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UNDINE, 


FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  THE 

BARON  DE  LA  MOTTE  FOUaT]£, 

BY 

REV.  THOMAS  TRACY 


UNDINE, 

OB, 

ALSO, 

S  I  N  T  R  A  M 

airs  »is  eoisB^Kl oils. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OP 

FRIEDRICH  DE  LA  MOTTE  FOUQUfi. 


WILLIS  P.  HAZARD,  190  CHESTNUT  ST., 
PHILADELPHIA. 
1856. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 


The  peculiar  genius  of  FouacE  is  so  fully  developed  in  the  two 
stories  of  Undine  and  Sintram,  and  that  genius  is  bc  strictly  in- 
dividual, the  reflection  of  the  personal  sympathy  and  culture  of  the 
man,  that  the  author's  life  might  be  almost  said  to  be  written  in 
those  tales.  Critics  complain  of  the  want  of  comprehensiveness 
in  Fouque's  writings.  He  had  an  eye,  they  say,  simply  for  one 
thing,  a  pure  Christian  Chivalry,  and  of  this  he  was  a  dreamer. 
Surely,  without  detracting  from  the  laws  of  Art,  there  is  room  for 
one  such  dreamer  in  the  world,  in  this  low  thinking  age.  The 
young,  the  fair,  the  good,  will  be  ever  content  to  dream  with  him. 
Fouque  practised  the  chivalry  which  he  taught.  He  was  twice  in 
arms  in  defence  of  his  country  in  early  youth,  and  again,  "  with 
the  Lyre  and  the  Sword,"  in  the  war  against  Napoleon.  He  was 
wounded  at  Culm,  and  present  at  Leipzig.  His  grandfather  was 
the  intimate  of  the  great  Frederic,  attained  the  rank  of  General, 
and  fought  in  the  Seven  Years'  War.  The  grandson,  as  may  be 
seen  in  the  Preface  to  Sintram,  delighted  to  go  ftirther  back  into 
antiquity  for  the  honour  of  the  family  name. 

Friedrich  Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouque  was  born  on  the  12th  Feb- 
ruary, 1777,  and  died  23d  October,  1842.  Before  bis  death  he 
published  a  corrected  edition  of  his  Select  Works,  in  12  volumes. 
They  include  his  great  dramatic  poem,  The  Hero  of  the  North,  a 
version  of  the  old  Nibelungen-Lied  ;  The  Magic  Ring  and  Sin- 
tram, kindred  tales  of  Chivalry ;  "  the  faultless  completeness  of 
Undine Aslauga's  Knight,  and  various  dramatic  and  poetical 
productions. 


DEDICATION. 


Vision  of  beauty,  dear  Undine, 

Since  led  by  storied  light, 

I  found  you,  mystic  sprite, 
How  soothing  to  my  heart  your  voice  has  Mda  i 

You  press  beside  me,  angel  miid, 

Soft  breathing  all  your  woes, 

And  winning  brief  repose, — 
A  wayward,  tender,  timid  child. 

Still  my  guitar  has  caught  the  tone, 

And  from  its  gate  of  gold 

Your  whispered  sorrows  rolled. 
Till  thro'  the  world  their  sound  is  flown. 

And  many  hearts  your  sweetness  love, 

Though  strange  your  freaks  and  state, 

And  while  I  sing  your  fate, 
The  wild  and  wond'rous  tale  approve. 

Now  would  they  warmly,  one  and  all, 

Your  fortunes  trace  anew : 

Then,  sweet,  your  way  pursue, 
And,  fearless,  enter  bower  and  hall. 

Greet  noble  knights  with  homage  due; 
But  greet,  all  trusting  there, 
The  lovely  German  fair  ; 
Welcome,"  they  cry,  "  the  maiden  true  !* 

And  if  toward  me  one  dart  a  glance, 

Say,  "i/e's  a  loyal  knight. 

Who  serves  you,  ladies  bright, — 
Guitar  and  sword, — at  tourney,  feast,  and  dance." 

FOUQU^ 


CONTENTS. 


UNDINE. 

Paoi, 

Biographical  Notices   vii 

Preface   xi 

Dedication   xv 

Chap.  I.    How  a  Knight  came  to  a  Fisherman's  Cottage        •  2 

II.    In  what  manner  Undine  came  to  thb  Fisherman  .      .  8 

III.  How  they  found  Undine  again  ....  15 

IV.  Of  what  had  happened  to  the  Knight  in  the  forest  20 
V.   How  the  Knight  lived  on  the  point  of  ulud,  now  en- 
circled BY  the  lake   27 

VI.    A  Wedding   .32 

VII.   What  further  happened  on  the  evening  of  the  wedding  39 

VIII.    The  day  after  the  wedd/ng   43 

IX.    How  THE  Knight  took  his  young  wife  with  him      .  49 

X.    How  they  lived  in  the  city  .      .             ...  54 

XI.    Festival  of  Bertalda's  name-day      .      .      .      •  58 

XII.     How  THEY  departed  FROM  THE  CITY          .         •  65 

XIII.  How  THEY  LIVED  AT  CaSTLE  RiNGSTETTEN    .         •         •  70 

XIV.  How  Bertalda  returned  with  the  Knight  ...  78 
XV.   Passage  down  the  Danube  to  Vienna       .             .  85 

XVI.    What  further  happened  to  Huldbrand                    .  92 

XVII.    The  Knight's  dream    97 


XVIII.    How  the  Knight  Huldbrand  solemnized  his  marriage  .  100 
XIX.   How  THE  Knight  Huldbrand  was  buriei?  .      .      •  105 


PREFACE. 


The  following  translation  of  Undine,  one  of  the  minor  romances  of  Fre- 
deric, Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouque,  is  from  the  fourth  impression  of  the 
original,  that  of  Berlin,  1826.  It  was  made  in  the  winter  of  1835,  and  has 
since  received  such  revision  and  improvement,  as  the  kindness  of  literary 
friends,  in  connection  with  my  own  wish  to  do  as  little  injustice  to  the  genius 
of  the  author  as  I  could,  has  enabled  me  to  give  it. 

This  is  no  place  for  discussing  the  characteristics  of  Fouque,  but  he  has 
one  excellence  of  composition  so  rich  and  rare,  that  I  may  be  permitted  to 
allude  to  it  here : — I  mean  his  harmonious  union  of  fiction  and  fact,  his  ex- 
quisite blending  of  the  natural  and  supernatural.  So  perfect  do  we  find  this 
union  to  be,  such  a  melting  indeed  of  both  into  one,  that  we  hardly  know  in 
which  of  the  two  we  feel  ourselves  most  at  home.  We  have  the  true  feeling 
of  real  hfe,  embellished  by  the  magic  of  imagination, — just  as  the  frost-work, 
which  at  times  we  see  almost  spiritualizing  our  groves  and  shrubberies  in 
winter,  constitutes  so  much  of  their  peculieir  charm  ; — and  this  double  excel- 
lence it  was,  that  led  me  to  select  and  translate  a  few  specimens  of  this 
writer's  Natural  and  Supernatural. 

Unbine  is  a  beautifully  imaginative  tale,  a  master-piece  in  this  depart- 
ment o*'  German  literature.  With  a  simplicity  of  the  antique  cast  it 
combines  the  most  picturesque  wildness,  unbroken  interest,  excellent 
principles,  a  peculiar  vein  of  pleasantry,  and  even  what  we  seldom  look 
for  in  works  of  this  kind,  touches  of  genuine  pathos.  We  are  esteemed, 
and  I  presume  justly,  a  less  imaginative  race  than  the  people  of  Ger- 
many. Our  traditions,  local  superstitions,  early  influences,  education, 
aabits  of  thought,  and  other  circumstances  of  life,  are  of  a  more  com- 
mon-place order  than  theirs.  We  are  not,  it  may  be,  less  fond  of  legen- 
dary lore,  since  love  of  the  marvellous  seems  to  be  a  universal  impulse 
in  our  nature  ;  but  we  seek  its  enjoyment  with  the  mere  calm  approval  of 
fancy,  while  they  welcome  it  with  much  of  the  warmth  of  good  faith. 
Still,  if  "  THE  World  of  Reality,  not  the  Fairyland  of  Romance,"  be 


Kii 


PREFACE. 


our  maxim,  the  spirit  of  truth  and  tenderness  is  nowhere  wholly  extinct : 
long  as  it  may  lie  slumbering  in  the  soul,  it  is  too  inseparable  a  part  of  our 
being  ever  to  die.    Is  not  imagination  a  germ  of  immortality? 

I  am  gratified  to  perceive  that  many  writers  allude  to  this  fiction  in  terms 
of  warm  commendation.  Menzel,  in  his  development  of  German  Litera- 
ture, of  which  we  have  lately  been  favored  with  an  able  translation,  speaks 
of  this  and  the  "  Vial-Genie,"  or  "  Mandrake,"  another  miniature  romance 
by  the  same  author,  in  these  words :  "  Fouque's  '  Undine '  will  always  con- 
tinue one  of  the  most  delightful  creations  of  German  poetry.  Also  the  little 
story  of  the  "  Mandrake  "  belongs  to  the  best  elaborations  of  the  old  national 
sagas,"  or  tales  of  the  supernatural,  derived  from  the  voice  of  traditioned 
superstition.  But  the  most  accurate  appreciation  that  I  have  seen  of  Undine, 
I  find  among  those  golden  fragments  of  the  richest  of  minds,  the  Speci- 
mens of  the  Table  Talk  of  S.  T.  Coleridge.  This  is  the  passage  to  which 
I  refer :  <*  Undine  is  a  most  exquisite  work.  It  shows  the  general  want  of 
any  sense  for  the  fine  and  the  subtle  in  the  public  taste,  that  this  romance 
made  no  deep  iiiipression.  Undine's  character,  before  she  receives  a  soul,  is 
marvellously  beautiful." 

The  author,  to  whom  we  are  so  much  indebted  for  these  Specimens  and 
other  Literary  Remains,  and  to  whom  we  had  hoped,  alas  !  to  be  more  and 
more  indebted,  as  well  for  these  labours  of  love  as  for  those  of  his  own  clas- 
sical genius,  observes  in  a  note :  *'  Mr.  Coleridge's  admiration  of  this 
little  romance  was  unbounded.  He  said  there  was  something  in  Undine 
even  beyond  Scott, — that  Scott's  best  characters  and  conceptions  were 
compesed ;  by  which  I  understood  him  to  mean,  that  Baillie  Nicol  Jarvie, 
for  example,  was  made  up  of  old  particulars,  and  received  its  individ- 
uality from  the  author's  power  of  fusion,  being  in  the  result  an  admirable 
product,  as  Corinthian  brass  was  said  to  be  the  conflux  of  the  spoils  of  a 
city.  But  Undine,  he  said,  was  one  and  single  in  projection,  and  had 
presented  to  his  imagination,  what  Scott  had  never  done,  an  absolutely 
new  idea." 

This  character  being  formed  according  to  the  principles  of  the  Rosicru- 
cian  philosophy,  it  has  been  suggested  to  me,  that  to  enable  the  reader  to 
understand  and  appreciate  her  story,  I  ought  to  prefix  a  -sketch  of  that  sys- 
tem to  my  translation,  and  I  once  thought  of  profiting  by  the  suggestion. 
On  reflection,  however,  I  cannot  but  view  the  work  as  complete  in  itself. 
Whatever  seems  requisite,  even  for  readers  least  conversant  with  such  lore, 
Fouqus  has  contrived  to  incorporate,  and  I  think  very  happily  too,  with  the 
texture  of  his  fable.  See  the  developments  of  the  eighth  chapter.  Every- 
body enjoys  the  delightful  marvels  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  marvels  tliat  have 
almost  become  numbered  among  the  common-places  of  our  experience ;  even 
children  understand  the  machinery  of  genii,  magicians,  talismans,  rings, 
lamps,  and  enchanted  horses. 


PREFACE. 


ziii 


The  reader  will  allow  mc  to  observe,  in  closing  these  brief  notices,  that, 
supported  as  well  by  my  own  feeling  as  by  the  judgment  of  Menzel,  Cole- 
ridge, and,  I  may  add,  by  the  general  voice  of  criticism,  I  view  Undine  not 
only  as  a  work  of  art,  but  as  something  far  superior,  an  exquisite  creation  of 
genius.  If  I  have  failed  to  do  justice  to  her  peculiar  traits,  in  thus  intro- 
ducing her  to  him  in  the  costume  of  our  \inguage,  it  is  not  owing  to  want 
of  admiration,  or  of  studiously  endeavoring  to  be  faithful  to  my  trust ;  and, 
aware  of  the  difficulty  of  presenting  her  the  "  vision  of  beauty"  that 
Fouque  "  found"  her,  he  will  forgive  the  fond  impulse  of  my  ambition. 
What  welcome  she  may  receive  among  us,  it  remains  for  the  noble  knights 
and  lovely  ladies  of  our  country  to  show.  She  does  not  come  as  a 
stranger, — she  has  already  been  more  than  once  greeted  with  favour ;  still, 
wide  as  may  be  her  fame  in  the  world  of  letters,  she  seems,  as  yet,  to  be 
more  talked  of  in  the  world  of  common  readers,  than,  if  I  may  so  speak, 
Known  in  person.  To  all  lovers  of  the  imaginative,  therefore, — to  every 
♦*  simple,  affectionate,  and  wonder-loving  heart," — her  fortunes  are  again 
committed. 


This  translation  of  Undine  was  first  published  in  1839,  as  the  third 
volume  of  the  New  York  "  Library  of  Romance,"  of  which  "  Phantas- 
mion"  formed  the  first  and  second.  It  was  republished  also,  the  same  year, 
in  the  London  "  Standard  Library."  Encouraged  by  its  favourable  recep- 
tion, and  feeling  that  every  thing  of  value,  in  a  picture  so  closely  allied  to 
poetry  as  this,  depends  on  skilfully  disposing  the  colours  of  thought,  the 
lights  and  shades  of  expression,  I  have  since  that  edition  again  and  again 
compared  it  with  the  German,  and  spared  no  pains  to  render  it  less  un- 
worthy of  the  welcome  with  which  it  has  been  honoured. 

What  I  proposed  to  myself,  as  a  general  if  not  an  invariable  rule  in 
translating  and  revising,  was  this,  to  adhere  to  the  verbal  import  of  the  ori- 
ginal, whenever  a  freer  rendering  did  not  give  promise  of  more  clearness, 
beauty,  or  force  of  expression,  in  English.  Freedom  and  fidelity,  indeed, 
have  been  my  continual  aim ;  but,  notwithstanding  the  imperfections  which 
I  have  from  time  to  time  detected  and  removed,  when  I  perceive  how 
faint  a  shadow  my  version  is  of  the  vivid  original,  I  am  able  to  make  no 
higher  boast  than  of  having  tried  to  copy  the  author's  fineness  and  subtlety 
of  conception,  as  well  as  the  ease  and  simplicity  of  his  execution.  Still, 
however  inadequate  the  translation  may  be,  and  however  perfect  a  copy 
sojne  more  expert  translator  may  produce,  few  or  none  will  ever  submit  to  a 
like  process  of  revision  and  irflpToveincnt  to  make  it  such ;  and  though 
"  a  I'ibour  of  love,"  as  one  of  my  reviewers  has  been  pieaaed  to  call  my 


xiv 


PREFACE. 


work, — a  striving  after  accuracy  of  thought  and  expression,  as  if  it  were 
a  case  of  conscience, — it  is  a  labour  that  I  would  fain  hope  I  shall  seldona 
find  it  necessary  to  repeat. 


The  preceding  remarks  formed  the  "  Advertisement"  to  the  "  Miniature 
Romances  from  the  German,"  published  in  Boston,  1841.  Since  that  time, 
the  translation  of  Undine  has  passed  through  more  editions  in  London,  than 
it  is  necessary  or  I  am  able  to  mention.  In  all  of  them,  omissions  have 
been  made,  and  other  unauthorized  liberties  have  been  taken ;  but  that  of 
Mr.  James  Bums,  in  his  recent  volumes  of  Fouque,  I  consider  by  far  the 
best  I  have  seen.  I  themk  the  editor  for  the  labor  he  has  bestowed  upon 
my  version.  I  should  have  been  more  pleased,  indeed,  if  he  had  not  re- 
moved the  author's  headings  from  the  chapters,  if  he  had  not  chosen  to 
unite  two  chapters  in  one,  and  if  he  had  not  injured  several  passages  by  the 
changes  he  has  made :  still  he  has  revised  my  work  with  so  much  care  and 
good  taste,  that,  in  preparing  it  for  Messrs.  Wiley  &  Putnam's  publication, 
I  have  derived  many  verbal  improvements  from  his  copy.  While  I  am  glad 
to  welcome  this  English  fellow-worker  to  the  same  delightful  field,  I  cannot 
but  cherish  the  assurance,  that  his  translations  of  German  romance,  both 
original  and  selected,  will  be  as  warmly  welcomed  by  all  lovers  of  the 
Natural  and  Supernatural  as  by  mysel£ 

T.  Tract. 

February  22,  1845. 


UNDINE. 


CHAPTER  1. 

How  a  Knight  came  to  a  Fisherman's  Cottage. 

Once  on  a  beautiful  evening,  it  may  now  be  mar  y  hundred 
years  ago,  there  was  a  worthy  old  fisherman  who  sat  before  hia 
door  mending  his  nets. 

Now  the  corner  of  the  world  where  he  dwelt,  was  exceedingly 
picturesque.  The  green  turf  on  which  he  had  built  his  cottage, 
ran  far  out  into  a  great  lake ;  and  this  slip  of  verdure  appeared 
to  stretch  into  it  as  much  through  love  of  its  clear  waters,  blue 
and  bright,  as  the  lake,  moved  by  a  like  impulse,  sti'ove  to  fold 
the  meadow,  with  its  waving  grass  and  flowers,  and  the  cooling 
shade  of  the  trees,  in  its  fond  embrace.  Such  were  the  fresh- 
ness and  beauty  of  both,  that  they  seemed  to  be  drawn  toward 
each  other,  and  the  one  to  be  visiting  the  other  as  a  guest. 

With  respect  to  human  beings,  indeed,  in  this  pleasant  spot, 
excepting  the  fisherman  and  his  family,  there  were  few  or  rather 
none  to  be  met  with.  For  in  the  back-ground  of  the  scene,  to- 
ward the  west  and  north-west,  lay  a  forest  of  extraordinary 
wildness,  which,  owing  to  its  gloom  and  its  being  almost  impass- 
able, as  well  as  to  fear  of  the  strange  creatures  and  visionary 
forms  to  be  encountered  there,  most  people  avoided  entering, 
unless  in  cases  of  extreme  necessity.  The  pious  old  fisher- 
man, however,  many  times  passed  through  it  without  harm, 
when  he  carried  the  fine  fish,  which  he  caught  by  his  beautiful 
fftrip  of  land,  to  a  great  city  lying  only  a  short  distance  beyond 
the  extensive  forest. 

2 


9 


UNDINE. 


[chap,  l 


Now  the  reason  he  was  able  to  go  through  this  wood  with  so 
much  ease,  may  have  been  chiefly  this,  because  he  entertained 
scarcely  any  thoughts  but  such  as  were  of  a  religious  nature  ; 
and  besides,  every  time  he  crossed  the  evil-reported  shades,  he 
used  to  sing  some  holy  song  with  a  clear  voice  and  from  a  sin- 
cere heart. 

Well,  while  he  sat  by  his  nets  this  evening,  neither  fearing 
nor  devising  evil,  a  sudden  terror  seized  him,  as  he  heard  a 
rushing  in  the  darkness  of  the  wood,  that  resembled  the  tram- 
pling of  a  mounted  steed,  and  the  noise  continued  every  instant 
drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  his  little  territory. 

What  he  had  dreamed  in  his  reveries,  when  abroad  in  many 
a  stormy  night,  respecting  the  mysteries  of  the  forest,  now 
flashed  through  his  mind  in  a  moment ;  especially  the  figure  of 
a  man  of  gigantic  stature  and  snow-white  appearance,  who 
kept  nodding  his  head  in  a  portentous  manner.  Yet,  when  he 
raised  his  eyes  toward  the  wood,  the  form  came  before  him  in 
perfect  distinctness,  as  he  saw  the  nodding  man  burst  forth 
from  the  mazy  web-work  of  leaves  and  branches.  But  he  im- 
mediately felt  emboldened,  when  he  reflected  that  nothing  to 
give  him  alarm  had  ever  befallen  him  even  in  the  forest ;  and 
moreover,  that  on  this  open  neck  of  land  the  evil  spirit,  it  was 
likely,  would  be  still  less  daring  in  the  exercise  of  its  power. 
At  the  same  time,  he  prayed  aloud  with  the  most  earnest  sin- 
cerity of  devotion,  repeating  a  passage  of  the  Bible.  This 
inspired  him  with  fresh  courage  ;  and  soon  perceiving  the  illu- 
sion ^  the  strange  mistake  into  which  his  imagination  had  betrayed 
him,  he  could  with  difliculty  refrain  from  laughing.  The  white, 
nodding  figure  he  had  seen,  became  transformed  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye,  to  what  in  reality  it  was,  a  small  brook,  long 
and  familiarly  known  to  him,  which  ran  foaming  from  the 
forest,  and  discharged  itself  into  the  lake. 

But  what  had  caused  the  startling  sound,  was  a  knight,  array 
ed  in  sumptuous  apparel,  who  beneath  the  shadows  of  the  tree? 
came  riding  toward  the  cottage.  His  doublet  was  of  dark  violet, 
embroidered  with  gold,  and  his  scarlet  cloak  hung  graceful iy 


ciur.  I.] 


UNDINE. 


3 


over  it ;  on  his  cap  of  burnished  gold  waved  red  and  violet 
plumes,  and  in  his  golden  shoulder-belt  flashed  a  sword, 
richly  ornamented  and  extremely  beautiful.  The  white  barb 
that  bore  the  knight,  was  more  slenderly  built  than  war-horses 
usually  are ;  and  he  touched  the  turf  with  a  step  so  light  and 
ejastic,  that  the  green  and  flower-woven  carpet  seemed  hardly 
to  receive  the  slightest  break  from  his  tread.  The  old  fisher- 
man, notwithstanding,  did  not  feel  perfectly  secure  in  his  mind, 
although  he  was  forced  to  believe,  that  no  evil  could  be  feared 
from  an  appearance  so  prepossessing;  and  therefore,  as  good 
manners  dictated,  he  took  off  his  hat  on  the  knight's  coming 
near,  and  quietly  remained  by  the  side  of  his  nets. 

"When  the  stranger  stopped,  and  asked  whether  he  with  his 
horse  could  have  shelter  and  entertainment  there  for  the  night, 
*the  fisherman  returned  answer :  "  As  to  your  horse,  fair  Sir,  I 
have  no  better  stable  for  him  than  this  shady  meadow,  and  no 
better  provender  than  the  grass  that  is  growing  here.  But  with 
••espect  to  yourself,  you  shall  be  welcome  to  our  humble  cot- 
tage, and  to  the  best  supper  and  lodging  we  are  able  to  give 
you." 

The  knight  was  well  contented  with  this  reception  ;  and 
alighting  from  his  horse,  which  his  host  assisted  him  to  relieve 
firom  saddle  and  bridle,  he  let  him  hasten  away  to  the  fresh 
pasture,  and  thus  spoke :  "  Even  had  I  found  you  less  hospita- 
ble and  kindly  disposed,  my  worthy  old  friend,  you  would  still, 
I  suspect,  hardly  have  got  rid  of  me  to-day ;  for  here,  I  per- 
ceive, a  broad  lake  lies  before  us,  and  as  to  riding  back  into 
that  wood  of  wonders,  with  the  shades  of  evening  deepening 
around  me,  may  Heaven  in  its  grace  preserve  me  from  the 
thought !" 

"  Pray,  not  a  word  of  the  wood,  or  of  returning  into  it !"  said 
the  fisherman,  and  took  his  guest  into  the  cottage. 

There,  beside  the  hearth,  from  which  a  frugal  fire  was  dif- 
fusing its  light  through  the  clean  dusky  room,  sat  the  fisher- 
man's aged  wife  in  a  great  chair.  At  the  entrance  of  their 
noble  guest,  she  rose  and  gave  him  a  courteous  welcome,  but 


4 


UNDINE. 


[CUAP.  I 


fe-at  down  again  m  her  seat  of  honour,  not  making  the  slightest 
offer  of  it  to  the  stranger.  Upon  this  the  fisherman  said  with  a 
smile : 

You  must  not  be  offended  with  her,  young  gentleman,  he- 
cause  she  has  not  given  up  to  you  the  best  chair  in  the  house  : 
it  is  a  custom  among  poor  people  to  look  upon  this  as  the  pri- 
vilege of  the  aged." 

"Why,  husband!"  cried  the  old  lady  with  a  quiet  smile, 
"  where  can  your  wits  be  wandering  ?  Our  guest,  to  say  the 
least  of  him,  must  belong  to  a  Christian  country,  and  how  is  it 
possible  then,  that  so  well-bred  a  young  man,  as  he  appears  to 
be,  could  dream  of  driving  old  people  from  their  chairs  ?  Take 
a  seat,  my  young  master,"  continued  she,  turning  to  the  knight : 
"  there  is  still  quite  a  snug  little  chair  across  the  room  there, 
only  be  careful  not  to  shove  it  about  too  roug'hly,  for  one  of  its 
legs,  I  fear,  is  none  of  the  firmest." 

The  knight  brought  up  the  seat  as  carefully  as  she  could  de- 
sire, and  good-humouredly  sat  down  upon  it ;  while  it  seemed 
to  him  for  a  moment,  that  he  must  be  somehow  related  to  this 
little  household,  and  have  just  returned  home  from  abroad. 

These  three  worthy  people  now  began  to  converse  in  the 
most  friendly  and  familiar  manner.  In  relation  to  the  forest, 
indeed,  concerning  which  the  knight  occasionally  made  some 
inquiries,  the  old  man  chose  to  know  but  little ;  at  any  rate  he 
was  of  opinion,  that  slightly  touching  upon  it,  at  this  hour  of 
twilight,  was  most  suitable  and  safe  ;  but  of  the  cares  and  com- 
forts of  their  home  and  their  business  abroad^  the  aged  couple 
spoke  more  freely,  and  listened  also  with  eager  curiosity,  as  the 
knight  recounted  to  them  his  travels,  and  how  he  had  a  castle 
near  one  of  the  sources  of  the  Danube,  and  that  his  name  was 
Sir  Huldbrand  of  Ringstetten, 

Already  had  the  stranger,  while  they  were  in  the  midst  of 
their  talk,  been  aware  at  times  of  a  splash  against  the  little  low 
window,  as  if  some  one  were  dashing  water  against  it.  The 
old  man,  every  time  he  heard  the  noise,  knit  his  brows  with 
vexation ;  but  at  last,  when  the  whole  SAveep  of  a  shower  came 


CHAP.  I.] 


UNDINE. 


5 


pouring  like  a  torrent  against  the  panes,  and  bubbling  through 
the  decayed  frame  into  the  room,  he  started  up  indignant,  rush- 
ed to  the  window,  and  cried  with  a  threatening  voice : 

"  Undine !  will  you  never  leave  off  these  fooleries  ?  not 
even  to-day,  when  we  have  a  stranger-knight  with  us  in  the 
cottage  ?" 

All  without  now  became  still,  only  a  low  titter  was  just  per- 
ceptible, and  the  fisherman  said,  as  he  came  back  to  his  seat : 
"  You  will  have  the  goodness,  my  honored  guest,  to  pardon 
this  freak,  and  it  may  be  a  multitude  more,  but  she  has  no 
thought  of  evil  or  any  thing  improper.  This  mischievous  Un- 
dine, to  confess  the  truth,  is  our  adopted  daughter,  and  she 
stoutly  refuses  to  give  over  this  frolicksome  childishness  of  hers, 
although  she  has  already  entered  her  eighteenth  year.  But  in 
spite  of  this,  as  1  said  before,  she  is  at  heart  one  of  the  very 
best  children  in  the  world." 

"  You  may  say  so,"  broke  in  the  old  lady,  shaking  her  head, 
— "  you  can  give  a  better  account  of  her  than  I  can.  When 
you  return  home  from  fishing,  or  from  selling  your  fish  in  the 
city,  you  may  think  her  frolics  very  delightful.  But  to  have 
her  figuring  about  you  the  whole  day  long,  and  never,  from 
morning  to  night,  to  hear  her  speak  one  word  of  sense  ;  and 
then,  as  she  grows  older,  instead  of  having  any  help  from  her 
in  the  family,  tc  find  her  a  continual  cause  of  anxiety,  lest  her 
wild  humours  should  completely  ruin  us, — that  is  quite  a  dif- 
ferent affair,  and  enough  at  last  to  weary  out  the  patience  even 
of  a  saint." 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  the  master  of  the  house,  with  a  smile, 
"  you  have  your  trials  with  Undine,  and  I  have  mine  with  the 
lake.  The  lake  often  beats  down  my  dams,  and  breaks  the 
meshes  of  my  nets,  but  for  all  that  I  have  a  strong  affection  for 
it ;  and  so  have  you,  in  spite  of  your  mighty  crosses  and  vexa» 
tions,  for  our  nice  pretty  little  child.    Is  it  not  true  ?" 

"  One  cannot  be  very  angry  with  her,"  answered  the  old 
lady,  as  she  gave  her  husband  an  approving  smile. 

That  instant  the  door  flew  open,  and  a  girl  of  slender  form, 


6 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  I. 


almost  a  very  miniature  of  woman,  her  hair  flaxen  and  her 
complexion  fair,  in  one  word,  a  blonde-like  miracle  of  beauty, 
slipped  laughing  in,  and  said :  "  You  have  only  been  making 
a  mock  of  me,  father ;  for  where  now  is  the  guest  you  men- 
tioned ?" 

The  same  moment,  however,  she  perceived  the  knight  also, 
and  continued  standing  before  the  comely  young  man  in  fixed 
astonishment.  Huldbrand  was  charmed  with  her  graceful 
figure,  and  viewed  her  lovely  features  with  the  more  intense 
interest,  as  he  imagined  it  was  only  her  surprise  that  permitted 
him  to  have  the  opportunity,  and  that  she  would  soon  turn  away 
fi:om  his  gaze  with  increased  bashfulness.  But  the  event  was 
the  very  reverse  of  what  he  expected.  For  after  now  regard- 
ing him  quite  a  long  while,  she  felt  more  confidence,  moved 
nearer,  knelt  down  before  him,  and,  while  she  played  with  a 
gold  medal,  which  he  wore  attached  to  a  rich  chain  on  his 
breast,  exclaimed : 

"  Why,  you  beautiful,  you  friendly  guest !  how  have  you 
reached  our  poor  cottage  at  last  ?  Have  you  been  obliged,  for 
years  and  years,  to  wander  about  the  world,  before  you  could 
catch  one  glimpe  of  our  nook  ?  Do  you  come  out  of  that  wild 
forest,  my  lovely  friend  ?" 

The  old  woman  was  so  prompt  in  her  reproof,  as  to  allow 
him  no  time  to  answer.  She  commanded  the  maiden  to  rise, 
show  better  manners,  and  go  to  her  work.  But  Undine,  with- 
out making  any  reply,  drew  a  little  footstool  near  Huldbrand's 
chair,  sat  down  upon  it  with  her  netting,  and  said  in  a  gentle 
tone :  "  I  will  work  here." 

The  old  man  did  as  parents  are  apt  to  do  with  children,  to 
whom  they  have  been  over-indulgent.  He  affected  to  observe 
nothing  of  Undine's  strange  behaviour,  and  was  beginning  to  talk 
about  something  else.  But  this  was  what  the  little  girl  would 
not  suffer  him  to  do.  She  broke  in  upon  him  :  "  I  have  asked 
our  kind  guest,  from  whence  he  has  come  among  us,  and  he 
has  not  yet  answered  me." 


CHAP.  I  ] 


UNDINE. 


7 


"  I  come  out  of  the  forest,  you  lovely  little  vision,"  Huld- 
brand  returned,  and  she  spoke  again: 

"  You  must  also  tell  me  how  you  came  to  enter  that  forest, 
so  feared  and  shunned,  and  the  marvellous  adventures  you  mel~ 
with  there;  for  there  is  no  escaping,  I  guess,  without  some- 
thing of  this  kind." 

Huldbrand  felt  a  slight  shudder,  on  remembering  what  he 
had  witnessed,  and  looked  involuntarily  toward  the  window ; 
for  it  seemed  to  him,  that  one  of  the  strange  shapes,  which  had 
come  upon  him  in  the  forest,  must  be  there  grinning  in  through 
the  glass ;  but  he  discerned  nothing  except  the  deep  darkness 
of  night,  which  had  now  enveloped  the  whole  prospect.  Upon 
this,  he  became  more  collected,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of 
beginning  his  account,  when  the  old  man  thus  interrupted  him : 

"  Not  so.  Sir  knight ;  this  is  by  no  means  a  fit  hour  for  such 
relations." 

But  Undine,  in  a  state  of  high  excitement,  sprang  up  from 
lier  little  cricket,  braced  her  beautiful  arms  against  her  sides, 
and  cried,  placing  herself  directly  before  the  fisherman :  "  He 
shall  not  tell  his  story,  father  ?  he  shall  not  ?  But  it  is  my 
will : — he  shall ! — he  shall,  stop  him  who  may  !" 

Thus  speaking,  she  stamped  her  neat  little  foot  vehemently 
^n  the  floor,  but  all  with  an  air  of  such  comic  and  good-hu- 
moured simplicity,  that  Huldbrand  now  found  it  quite  as  hard 
to  withdraw  his  gaze  from  her  wild  emotion,  as  he  had  before 
from  her  gentleness  and  beauty.  The  old  man,  on  the  contrary, 
burst  out  in  unrestrained  displeasure.  He  severely  reproved 
Undine  for  her  disobedience  and  her  unbecomino-  carriao-e 
toward  the  stranger,  and  his  good  old  wife  joined  him  in  harp- 
ing on  the  same  string. 

By  these  rebukes  Undine  was  only  excited  the  more.  "  If 
you  want  to  quarrel  with  me,"  she  cried,  "  and  will  not  let  me 
hear  what  I  so  much  desire,  then  sleep  alone  in  your  smoky 
old  hut !" — And  swift  as  an  arrow  she  shot  from  the  door,  and 
vanished  amid  the  darkness  of  the  ni^ht. 


8 


UNDINE. 


[chap,  u 


CHAPTER  IL 

In  what  manner  Undine  had  come  to  the  Fisherman. 

HuLDBRAND  and  the  fisherman  sprang  from  their  seats,  and  were 
rushing  to  stop  the  angry  girl ;  but  before  they  could  reach  the 
cottage  door,  she  had  disappeared  in  the  cloud-like  obscurity 
without,  and  no  sound,  not  so  much  even  as  that  of  her  light 
foot-step,  betrayed  the  course  she  had  taken,  Huldbrand  threw 
a  glance  of  inquiry  toward  his  host :  it  almost  seemed  to  him,  as 
if  ,  his  whole  interview  with  a  sweet  apparition,  which  had  so 
suddenly  plunged  again  amid  the  night,  were  no  other  than  a 
continuation  of  the  wonderful  forms,  that  had  just  played  their 
mad  pranks  with  him  in  the  forest ;  but  the  old  man  muttered 
between  his  teeth : 

"  This  is  not  the  first  time  she  has  treated  us  in  this  manner. 
Now  must  our  hearts  be  filled  with  anxiety,  and  our  eyes  find 
no  sleep,  the  livelong  night ;  for  who  can  assure  us,  in  spite  of 
her  past  escapes,  that  she  will  not  some  time  or  other  come 
to  harm,  if  she  thus  continue  out  in  the  dark  and  alone  until 
daylight  ?" 

"  Then  pray,  for  God's  sake,  father,  let  us  follow  her,"  cried 
Huldbrand  anxiously. 

"  Wherefore  should  we  ?"  replied  the  old  man ;  "  it  would  be 
a  sin,  were  I  to  suffer  you,  all  alone,  to  search  after  the  foolish 
girl  amid  the  lonesomeness  of  night ;  and  my  old  limbs  would 
ffiil  to  carry  me  to  this  wild  rover,  even  if  I  knew  to  what 
place  she  has  hurried  offl" 

"  Still  we  ought  at  least  to  call  after  her,  and  beg  her  to  re- 
turn," said  Huldbrand ;  and  he  began  to  call  in  tones  of  earnest 
entreaty :  "  Undine  !  Undine  !  come  back,  pray  come  back !" 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  and  said :  "  All  your  shoutings 


CHAP.  II.] 


UNDINE. 


9 


however  loud  and  long,  will  be  of  no  avail ;  you  know  not  as 
yet,  Sir  knight,  what  a  self-willed  thing  the  little  wilding  is." 
But  still,  even  hoping  against  hope,  he  could  not  himself  cease 
calling  out  every  minute,  amid  the  gloom  of  night :  "  Undine  ! 
ah,  dear  Undine !  I  beseech  you,  pray  come  back, — only  this 
once." 

It  turned  out,  however,  exactly  as  the  fisherman  had  said. 
No  Undine  could  they  hear  or  see  ;  and  as  the  old  man  would  ^ 
on  no  account  consent  that  Huldbrand  should  go  in  quest  of  the 
furtive,  they  were  both  obliged  at  last  to  return  into  the  cot- 
tage. There  they  found  the  fire  on  the  hearth  almost  gone 
out,  and  the  mistress  of  the  house,  who  took  Undine's  flight  and 
danger  far  less  to  heart  than  her  husband,  had  already  gone  to 
rest.  The  old  man  blew  up  the  coals,  put  on  dry  wood,  and 
by  means  of  the  renewed  flame  hunted  for  a  jug  of  wine,  which 
he  brought  and  set  between  himself  and  his  guest. 

"  You,  Sir  knight,  as  well  as  I,"  said  he,  "  are  anxious  on 
the  silly  girl's  account,  and  it  would  be  better,  I  think,  to  spend 
part  of  the  night  in  chatting  and  drinking,  than  keep  turning 
and  turning  on  our  rush-mats,  and  trying  in  vain  to  sleep. 
What  is  your  opinion  ?" 

Huldbrand  was  well  pleased  with  the  plan  ;  the  fisherman 
pressed  him  to  take  the  vacant  seat  of  honor,  its  worthy  occu- 
pant having  now  left  it  for  her  couch  ;  and  they  relished  their 
beverage  and  enjoyed  their  chat,  as  two  such  good  men  and 
true  ever  ought  to  do.  To  be  sure,  whenever  the  slightest 
thing  moved  before  the  windows,  or  at  times  when  just  nothing 
at  all  was  moving,  one  of  them  would  look  up  and  exclaim, 
"  There  she  comes  !" — Then  would  they  continue  silent  a  few 
moments,  and  afterward,  when  nothing  appeared,  would  shake 
their  heads,  brea  he  out  a  sigh,  and  go  on  with  their  talk. 

But  as  they  could  neither  of  them  think  of  any  thing  except 
Undine,  the  best  plan  they  could  devise  was,  that  the  old  fisher- 
man should  relate,  and  the  knight  should  hear,  in  what  mannei 
Undine  had  come  to  the  cottage.  So  the  fisherman  began  aa 
follows : 


10 


UNDINE. 


[CIIAP.  II 


"  It  is  now  about  fifteen  years,  since  I  one  day  crossed  the  wild 
forest  with  fish  for  the  city  market.  My  wife  had  remained  at 
home,  as  she  was  wont  to  do ;  and  at  this  time  for  a  reason  of 
more  than  common  interest  ;  for  although  we  were  beginning 
to  feel  the  advances  of  age,  God  had  bestov^ed  upon  us  an  infant 
of  wonderful  beauty.  It  was  a  little  girl,  and  we  already  be- 
gan to  ask  ourselves  the  question,  whether  we  ought  not,  for 
the  advantage  of  the  new-comer,  to  quit  our  solitude,  and,  the 
better  to  bring  up  this  precious  gift  of  Heavsn,  to  remove  to 
some  more  inhabited  place.  Poor  people,  to  be  sure,  cannot  in 
these  cases  do  all  you  may  think  they  ought.  Sir  knight ;  but 
still,  gracious  God !  we  must  all  do  as  much  for  our  children 
as  we  possibly  can. 

"  Well,  I  went  on  my  way,  and  this  affair  would  keep  running 
in  my  head.  This  tongue  of  land  was  most  dear  to  me,  and  I 
shrunk  from  the  thought  of  leaving  it,  when,  amidst  the  bustle 
and  brawls  of  the  city,  I  was  obliged  to  reflect  in  this  manner 
by  myself :  '  In  a  scene  of  tumult  like  this,  or  at  least  in  one 
not  much  more  quiet,  I  too  must  soon  take  up  my  abode.'  But 
in  spite  of  these  feelings,  I  was  far  from  murmuring  against  the 
kind  providence  of  God  ;  on  the  contrary,  when  I  received  this 
new  blessing,  my  heart  breathed  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  too 
deep  for  words  to  express.  I  should  also  speak  an  untruth, 
were  I  to  say,  that  any  thing  befell  me,  either  on  my  passage 
through  the  forest  to  the  city,  or  on  my  returning  homeward, 
that  gave  me  more  alarm  than  usual,  as  at  that  time  I  had  never 
seen  any  appearance  there,  which  could  terrify  or  annoy  me. 
The  Lord  was  ever  with  me  in  those  awful  shades." 

Thus  speaking,  he  took  his  cap  reverently  from  his  bald 
head,  and  continued  to  sit,  for  a  considerable  time,  in  devout 
thought.  He  then  covered  himself  again,  and  went  on  with  his 
relation : 

"  On  this  side  the  forest,  alas  !  it  was  on  this  side,  that  woe 
burst  upon  me.  My  wife  came  wildly  to  meet  me,  clad  in 
mourning  apparel,  and  her  eyes  slicaming  with  tears,  '  Gra- 
cious God  !'  I  cried  with  a  ^roan ;  'where's  our  child?  Speak  1* 


CHAP.  U.] 


UNDINE. 


11 


" '  With  the  Being  on  whom  you  have  called,  dear  husband,' 
she  answered ;  and  we  now  entered  the  cottage  together, 
weeping  in  silence.  I  looked  for  the  little  corse,  almost  fearing 
to  find  what  I  was  seeking ;  and  then  it  was  I  first  learnt  how 
all  had  happened. 

"  My  wife  had  taken  the  little  one  in  her  arms,  and  walked 
out  to  the  shore  of  the  lake.  She  there  sat  down  by .  ts  very 
brink ;  and  Avhile  she  was  playing  with  the  infant,  as  free  from 
all  fear  as  she  was  full  of  delight,  it  bent  forward  on  a  sudden, 
as  if  seeing  something  very  beautiful  in  the  water.  My  wife 
saw  her  laugh,  the  dear  angel,  and  try  to  catch  the  image  in 
her  little  hands ;  but  in  a  moment, — with  a  motion  swifter  than 
sight, — she  sprung  from  her  mother's  arms,  and  sunk  in  the 
lake,  the  watery  glass  into  which  she  had  been  gazing.  I 
searched  for  our  lost  darling  again  and  again  ;  but  it  was  all 
in  vain ;  I  could  nowhere  find  the  least  trace  of  her. 

"  Well,  we  were  again  childless  parents,  and  were  now,  on 
the  same  evening,  sitting  together  by  our  cottage  hearth.  We 
had  no  desire  to  talk,  even  if  our  tears  would  have  permitted 
us.  As  we  thus  sat  in  mournful  stillness,  gazing  into  the  fire, 
all  at  once  we  heard  something  without, — a  slight  rustling  at 
the  door.  The  door  flew  open,  and  we  saw  a  little  girl,  three 
or  four  years  old,  and  more  beautiful  than  I  am  able  to  tell 
you,  standing  on  the  threshold,  richly  dressed  and  smiling  upon 
us.  We  were  struck  dumb  with  astonishment,  and  I  knew  not 
for  a  time,  whether  the  tiny  form  were  a  real  human  being,  or 
a  mere  mockery  of  enchantment.  But  I  soon  perceived  water 
dripping  from  her  golden  hair  and  rich  garments,  and  that  the 
pretty  child  had  been  lying  in  the  water,  and  stood  in  imme- 
diate need  of  our  help. 

"  '  Wife,'  said  I,  '  no  one  has  been  able  to  save  our  child  for 
us  ;  still  we  doubtless  ought  to  do  for  others,  what  would  make 
ourselves  the  happiest  parents  on  earth,  could  any  one  do  us 
the  same  kindness.' 

"  We  undressed  the  little  thing,  put  her  to  bed,  and  gave  her 
something  warming  to  drink :  at  all  this  she  spoke  not  a  word, 


13 


UNDINE. 


[cHAi*.  n. 


but  only  turned  her  eyes  upon  us, — eyes  blue  and  bright  as  sea 
or  sky, — and  continued  looking  at  us  Avith  a  smile. 

"  Next  morning,  we  had  no  reason  to  fear,  that  she  had  re- 
ceived any  other  harm  than  her  wetting,  and  I  now  asked  her 
about  her  parents,  and  how  she  could  have  come  to  us.  But 
the  account  she  gave,  was  both  confused  and  incredible.  She 
must  surely  have  been  born  far  from  here,  not  only  because  1 
have  been  unable,  for  these  fifteen  years,  to  learn  any  thing  of 
her  birth,  but  because  she  then  said,  and  at  times  continues  to 
say,  many  things  of  so  very  singular  a  nature,  that  we  neither 
of  us  know,  after  all,  whether  she  may  not  have  dropped  among 
us  from  the  moon.  Then  her  talk  runs  upon  golden  castles, 
crystal  domes,  and  Heaven  knows  what  extravagances  beside. 
What  of  her  story,  however,  she  related  with  most  distinctness, 
was  this,  that  while  she  was  once  taking  a  sail  with  her  mo- 
ther on  the  great  lake,  she  fell  out  of  the  boat  into  the  water ; 
and  that  when  she  first  recovered  her  senses,  she  was  here  un- 
der our  trees,  where  the  gay  scenes  of  the  shore  filled  her  with 
delight. 

"  We  now  had  another  care  weighing  upon  our  minds,  and 
one  that  caused  us  no  small  perplexity  and  uneasiness.  We 
of  course  very  soon  determined  to  keep  and  bring  up  the  child 
we  had  found,  in  place  of  our  own  darling  that  had  been 
drowned  ;  but  who  could  tell  us  whether  she  had  been  baptized 
or  not  ?  She  herself  could  give  us  no  light  on  the  subject. 
When  we  asked  her  the  question,  she  commonly  made  answer, 
that  she  well  knew  she  was  created  for  God's  praise  and  glory , 
and  that  as  to  what  might  promote  the  praise  and  glory  of  God, 
she  was  willing  to  let  us  determine. 

"  My  wife  and  I  reasoned  in  this  way :  '  If  she  has  not  been 
baptized,  there  can  be  no  use  in  putting  oflf  the  ceremony ;  and 
if  she  has  been,  it  is  more  dangerous  to  have  too  little  of  a  good 
thing  than  too  much.' 

"  Taking  this  view  of  our  difficulty,  we  now  endeavwed  to 
hit  upon  a  good  name  for  the  child,  since  while  she  remained 
without  one,  we  were  often  at  a  loss,  in  our  familiar  talk,  to 


CHAP.  II.J 


UNDINE. 


13 


know  what  to  call  her.  We  at  length  decided,  that  Dorothea 
would  be  most  suitable  for  her,  as  I  had  somewhere  heard  it 
said,  that  this  name  signified  a  Gift  of  God ;  and  surely  she 
had  been  sent  to  us  by  Providence  as  a  gift,  to  comfort  us  in 
our  misery.  She,  on  the  contrary,  would  not  so  much  as  htar 
Dorothea  mentioned  :  she  insisted,  that  as  she  had  been  named 
Undine  by  her  parents,  Undine  she  ought  still  to  be  called. 

It  now  occurred  to  me,  that  this  was  a  heathenish  name,  to 
be  found  in  no  calendar,  and  I  resolved  to  ask  the  advice  of  a 
priest  in  the  city.  He  too  would  hear  nothing  of  the  name, 
Undine  ;  and  yielding  to  my  urgent  request,  he  came  with  me 
through  the  enchanted  forest,  in  order  to  perform  the  rite  of 
baptism  here  in  my  cottage. 

"  The  little  maid  stood  before  us  so  smart  in  her  finery,  and 
with  so  winning  an  air  of  gracefulness,  that  the  heart  of  the 
priest  softened  at  once  in  her  presence  ;  and  she  had  a  way  of 
coaxing  him  so  adroitly,  and  even  of  braving  him  at  times  with 
so  merry  a  queerness,  that  he  at  last  remembered  nothing  of  his 
many  objections  to  the  name  of  Undine. 

"  Thus  then  was  she  baptized  Undine  ;  and  during  the  holy 
ceremony,  she  behaved  with  great  propriety  and  gentleness, 
wild  and  wayward  as  at  other  times  she  invariably  was.  For 
in  this  my  wife  was  quite  right,  when  she  mentioned  what  care 
and  anxiety  the  child  has  occasioned  us.  If  1  should  relate  to 
you"  

At  this  moment  the  knight  interrupted  the  fisherman,  with  a 
view  to  direct  his  attention  to  a  deep  sound,  as  of  a  rushing 
flood,  which  had  caught  his  ear,  within  a  few  minutes,  between 
the  words  of  the  old  man.  And  now  the  waters  came  pouring 
on  with  redoubled  fury  before  the  cottage  windows.  Both 
sprang  to  the  door.  There  they  saw,  by  the  light  of  the  now 
risen  moon,  the  brook  which  issued  from  the  wood,  rushing  wildly 
over  its  banks,  and  whirling  onward  with  it  both  stones  and 
branches  of  trees  in  its  rapid  course.  The  storm,  as  if  awak- 
ened by  the  uproar,  burst  forth  from  the  clouds,  whose  im.mense 
masses  of  vapour  coursed  over  the  moon  with  the  swiftness  of 


14 


UNDINE. 


thought ;  the  lake  roared  beneath  the  wind,  that  swept  the  foam 
from  its  waves ;  while  the  trees  of  this  narrow  peninsula 
groaned  from  root  to  top-most  branch,  as  they  bowed  and 
swung  above  the  torrent. 

"  Undine  !  in  God's  name,  Undine  !"  cried  the  two  men  in 
an  agony.  No  answer  was  returned  ;  and  now,  regardless  of 
every  thing  else,  they  hurried  from  the  cottage,  one  in  this  di- 
rection, the  other  in  that,  searching  and  calling. 


OHAP.  III.] 


UNDINE. 


15 


CHAPTER  III. 

How  they  found  Undine  Again. 

The  longer  Huldbrand  sought  Undine  beneath  the  shades  of 
night,  and  failed  to  find  her,  the  more  anxious  and  confused  he 
became.  The  impression  that  she  was  a  mere  phantom  of  the 
forest,  gLjned  a  new  ascendency  over  him;  indeed,  amid  the 
howling  of  the  waves  and  the  tempest,  the  crashing  of  the  trees, 
and  so  entire  a  change  of  the  scene,  that  it  bore  no  resemblance 
to  its  former  calm  beauty,  he  was  tempted  to  view  the  whole 
peninsula,  together  with  the  cottage  and  its  inhabitants,  as  little 
more  than  some  mockery  of  his  senses ;  but  still  he  heard,  afar 
off,  the  fisherman's  anxious  and  incessant  shouting,  "  Undine  ! 
Undine  !"  and  also  his  aged  wife,  who,  with  a  loud  voice  and 
a  strong  feeling  of  awe,  was  praying  and  chanting  hymns  amid 
the  commotion. 

At  length,  when  he  drew  near  to  the  brook  which  had  over- 
flowed its  banks,  he  perceived  by  the  moonlight,  that  it  had 
taken  its  wild  course  directly  in  front  of  the  haunted  forest,  so 
as  to  change  the  peninsula  into  an  island. 

"  Merciful  God  1"  he  breathed  to  himself,  "  if  Undine  has 
ventured  one  step  within  that  fearful  wood,  what  will  become 
of  her  ?  Perhaps  it  was  all  owing  to  her  sportive  and  way- 
ward spirit,  because  I  could  give  her  no  account  of  my  adven- 
tures there.  And  now  the  stream  is  rolling  between  us,  she 
may  be  weeping  alone  on  the  other  side  in  the  midst  of  spectral 
horrors !" 

A  shuddering  groan  escaped  him,  and  clambering  over  some 
f?tones  and  trunks  of  overthrown  pines,  in  order  to  step  into  the 
impetuous  current,  he  resolved,  either  by  wading  or  swimming, 
to  seek  the  wanderer  on  the  further  shore.    He  felt,  it  is  true, 


16 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  Ill 


all  the  dread  and  shrinking  awe  creeping  over  him,  which  he 
had  already  suffered  by  daylight  among  the  now  tossing  and 
roaring  branches  of  the  forest.  More  than  all.  a  tall  man  in 
white,  whom  he  knew  but  too  well,  met  his  view,  as  he  stood 
grinning  and  nodding  on  the  grass  beyond  the  water ;  but  even 
monstrous  forms,  like  this,  only  impelled  him  to  cross  over 
toward  them,  when  the  thought  rushed  upon  him,  that  Undine 
might  be  there  alone,  and  in  the  agony  of  dea.h. 

He  had  alreatly  grasped  a  stout  branch  of  a  pine,  and  stood 
supporting  himself  upon  it  in  the  whirling  current,  against 
which  he  could  with  difficulty  keep  himself  erect ;  but  he  ad- 
vanced deeper  in,  with  a  courageous  spirit.  That  instant,  a 
gentle  voice  of  warning  cried  near  him :  "  Do  not  venture,  do 
not  venture  ! — that  old  man,  the  stream,  is  too  full  of  tricks  to 
be  ti'usted  !" — He  knew  the  soft  tones  of  the  voice  ;  and  while 
he  stood  as  it  were  entranced,  beneath  the  shadows  which  now 
duskily  veiled  the  moon,  his  head  swum  with  the  swell  and  roll- 
ing of  the  waves,  as  he  every  moment  saw  them  foaming  and 
dashing  above  his  knee.  Still  he  disdained  the  thought  of 
giving  up  his  purpose. 

"  If  you  are  not  really  there,  if  you  are  merely  gambolling 
round  me  like  a  mist,  may  I  too  bid  farewell  to  life,  and  become 
a  shadow  like  you,  dear,  dear  Undine  !"*  Thus  calling  aloud, 
he  again  moved  deeper  into  the  stream.  "  Look  round  you, — 
ah  pray  look  round  you,  beautiful  young  stranger !  why  rush 
on  death  so  madly !"  cried  the  voice  a  second  time  close  by 
him ;  and  looking  on  one  side,  as  the  moon  by  glimpses  un- 

*  This  intensive  form  of  expression  is  almost  as  familiar  in  English  as  in 
Geniian,  and  I  have  not  scrupled  occasionally  to  employ  it.    The  following 
example  from  Thalaba,  is  one  of  the  most  impressive  in  the  language : 
No  sound  but  the  wild,  wild  wind, 
And  the  snow  crunching  under  his  feet." 
These  lines  from  the  Ancient  Mariner  afford  another  example,  and  one 
stiW  more  remarkable : 

"  Alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone. 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea." 


CHAP.  HI.] 


UNDINE. 


17 


veiled  its  light,  he  perceived  a  little  island  formed  by  the  flood, 
and,  reclined  upon  its  flowery  turf  beneath  the  high  branches  of 
embowering  trees,  he  saw  the  smiling  and  lovely  Undine. 

O  with  what  a  thrill  of  delight,  compared  with  the  suspense 
and  pause  of  a  moment  before,  the  young  man  now  plied  his 
sturdy  staff!  A  few  steps  freed  him  from  the  flood,  that  was 
rushing  between  himself  and  the  maiden,  and  he  stood  near  her 
on  the  little  spot  of  green-sward,  in  secret  security,  covered  by 
the  primeval  trees  that  rustled  above  them.  Undine  had  par- 
tially risen,  within  her  tent  of  verdure,  and  she  now  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  so  that  she  gently  drew  him  down  upon 
the  soft  seat  by  her  side. 

"  Here  you  shall  tell  me  your  story,  my  handsome  friend," 
she  breathed  in  a  low  whisper  ;  "  here  the  cross  old  people  can- 
not disturb  us.  And,  besides,  our  roof  of  leaves  here  will  make 
quite  as  good  a  shelter,  it  may  be,  as  their  poor  cottage." 

"  It  is  heaven  itself,"  cried  Huldbrand ;  and  folding  her  in 
his  arms,  he  kissed  the  lovely  and  affectionate  girl  with  fer- 
vour. 

The  old  flsherman,  meantime,  had  come  to  the  margin  of  the 
stream,  and  he  shouted  across  to  the  young  lovers :  "  Why 
how  is  this.  Sir  knight!  I  received  you  with  the  welcome 
which  one  true-hearted  man  gives  to  another,  and  now  you 
sit  there  caressing  my  foster-child  in  secret,  while  you  suffer 
me  in  my  anxiety  to  go  roaming  through  the  night  in  quest 
of  her." 

"  Not  till  this  moment  did  I  find  her  myself,  old  father,"  cried 
the  knight  across  the  water. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  the  fisherman  ;  "  but  now  make 
haste,  and  bring  her  over  to  me  upon  firm  ground." 

To  this,  however,  Undine  would  by  no  means  consent.  She 
declared,  that  she  would  rather  enter  the  wild  forest  itself  with 
the  beautiful  stranger,  than  return  to  the  cottage,  where  she 
was  so  thwarted  in  her  wishes,  and  from  which  the  handsome 
knight  would  soon  or  late  go  away.  Then  closely  embracing 
3 


i8  UNDINE.  [chap.  hi. 

HuHbrand,  she  sung  the  following  verse  with  the  warbling 
sweetness  of  a  bird  : 

"  A  Rill  v/ould  leave  its  misty  vale, 
And  fortunes  wild  explore  ; 
Weary  at  length  it  reached  the  main, 
And  sought  its  vale  no  more." 

The  old  fisherman  wept  bitterly  at  her  song,  but  his  emotion 
seemed  to  awaken  little  or  no  sympathy  in  her.  She  kissed  and 
caressed  her  new  friend,  whom  she  called  her  darling,  and  who 
at  last  said  to  her :  "  Undine,  if  the  distress  of  the  old  man 
does  not  touch  your  heart,  it  cannot  but  move  mine.  We  ought 
to  return  to  him." 

She  opened  her  large  blue  eyes  upon  him  in  perfect  amaze- 
ment, and  spoke  at  last  with  a  slow  and  lingering  accent :  "  If 
you  think  so, — it  is  well ;  all  is  right  to  me,  which  you  think 
right.  But  the  old  man  over  there  must  first  give  me  his 
promise,  that  he  will  allow  you,  without  objection,  to  relate 
what  you  saw  in  the  wood,  and  well,  other  things  will  set- 
tle themselves."* 

"  Come,  do  only  come !"  cried  the  fisherman  to  her,  unable 
to  utter  another  word.  At  the  same  time,  he  stretched  his 
arms  wide  over  the  current  toward  her,  and,  to  give  her  assu- 
rance that  he  would  do  what  she  required,  nodded  his  head ; 
this  motion  caused  his  white  hair  to  fall  strangely  over  his  face, 
and  Huldbrand  could  not  but  remember  the  nodding  white  man 
of  the  forest.  Without  allowing  anything,  how^ever,  to  pro- 
duce in  liim  the  least  confusion,  the  young  knight  took  the 
beautiful  girl  in  his  arms,  and  bore  her  across  the  narrow  chan- 
nel, which  the  stream  had  torn  away  between  her  little  island 
and  the  solid  shore.  The  old  man  fell  upon  Undine's  neck, 
and  found  it  impossible  either  to  express  his  joy,  or  to  kiss  her 
enough ;  even  the  ancient  dame  came  up,  and  embraced  the 

*  "  Undine  evidently  meant  to  have  added  another  condition,  but  then 
thinking  it  superfluous,  only  remarks, — '  well,  other  things  will  settle  them- 
Bclves.'"    C  F. 


CHAP.  IM.] 


UNDINE. 


19 


recovered  girl  most  cordially.  Every  word  of  censure  was 
carefully  avoided  ;  the  more  so  indeed,  as  even  Undine,  forget- 
ting her  waywardness,  almost  overwhelmed  her  foster-parents 
with  caresses  and  the  prattle  of  tenderness. 

When  at  length  the  excess  of  their  joy  at  recovering  their 
child  had  subsided,  and  they  seemed  to  have  come  to  them- 
selves, morning  had  already  dawned,  opening  to  view  and 
brightening  the  waters  of  the  lake.  The  tempest  had  become 
hushed,  and  small  birds  sung  merrily  on  the  moist  branches. 

As  Undine  now  insisted  upon  hearing  the  recital  of  the 
knight's  promised  adventures,  the  aged  couple,  smiling  with 
good-humour,  yielded  to  her  wish.  Breakfast  was  brought 
out  beneath  the  trees,  which  stood  behind  the  cottage  toward 
the  lake  on  the  north,  and  they  sat  down  to  it  with  delighted 
hearts, — Undine  lower  than  the  rest  (since  she  would  by  no 
means  allow  it  to  be  otherwise)  at  the  knight's  feet  on  the  grass. 
These  arrangements  being  made,  Huldbrand  began  his  story 
in  the  following  manner. 


so  UNDINE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Of  what  had  happened  to  the  Knight  in  the  forest. 

"  It  is  now  about  eight  days  since  I  rode  into  the  free  imperial 
city,  which  lies  yonder  on  the  further  side  of  the  forest.  Soon 
after  my  arrival,  a  splendid  tournament  and  running  at  the  ring 
took  place  there,  and  I  spared  neither  my  horse  nor  my  lance 
in  the  encounters. 

"  Once,  while  I  was  pausing  at  the  lists,  to  rest  from  the 
brisk  exercise,  and  was  handing  back  my  helmet  to  one  of  my 
attendants,  a  female  figure  of  extraordinary  beauty  caught  my 
attention,  as,  most  magnificently  attired,  she  stood  looking  on  at 
one  of  the  balconies.  I  learnt,  on  making  inquiry  of  a  person 
near  me,  that  the  name  of  the  gay  young  lady  was  Bertalda, 
and  that  she  was  a  foster-daughter  of  one  of  the  powerful  dukes 
of  this  country.  She  too,  I  observed,  was  gazing  at  me,  and 
the  consequences  were  such,  as  we  young  knights  are  wont  to 
experience :  whatever  success  in  riding  I  might  have  had  before, 
I  was  now  favoured  with  still  better  fortune.  That  evening  I 
was  Bertalda's  partner  in  the  dance,  and  I  enjoyed  the  same 
distinction  during  the  remainder  of  the  festival." 

A  sharp  pain  in  his  left  hand,  as  it  hung  carelessly  beside 
him,  here  interrupted  Huldbrand's  relation,  and  drew  his  eye  to 
the  part  affected.  Undine  had  fastened  her  pearly  teeth, 
and  not  without  some  keenness  too,  upon  one  of  his  fingers, 
ap])earing  at  the  same  time  very  gloomy  and  displeased.  On 
a  sudden,  however,  she  looked  up  in  his  eyes  with  an  expres- 
sion of  tender  melancholy,  and  whispered  almost  inaudibly : 
"  You  blame  me,  but  it  was  all  your  own  fault."* 

*  "  That  is,  you  act  or  speak  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  make  me  treat  you 
rudely.  Why  do  you  say  such  provoking  things  ? — It  is  a  kind  of  tendel 
reproof,  in  se'^-defence."    C.  ,F. 


CHAP.  IV.' 


UNDINE. 


21 


She  then  covered  her  face,  and  the  knight,  .-strangely  embar- 
rassed and  thoughtful,  went  on  with  his  story : 

"  This  lady  Bertalda  of  whom  I  spoke,  is  of  a  proud  and 
wayward  spirit.  The  second  day  I  saw  her  she  pleased  m^  by 
no  means  so  much  as  she  had  the  first,  and  the  third  day  still 
less.  But  I  continued  about  her,  because  she  showed  me  more 
favour  than  she  did  any  other  knight ;  and  it  so  happened,  that 
I  playfully  asked  her  to  give  me  one  of  her  gloves. 

"  '  When  you  have  entered  the  haunted  forest  all  alone,'  said 
she  ;  '  when  you  have  explored  its  wonders,  and  brought  me  a 
full  account  of  them,  the  glove  is  yours.' 

"  As  to  getting  her  glove,  it  was  of  no  importar  ce  to  me 
whatever,  but  the  word  had  been  spoken,  and  no  honourable 
knight  would  permit  himself  to  be  urged  to  such  a  proof  of  val- 
our a  second  time." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Undine,  interrupting  him,  "  that  she  loved 
you." 

"  It  did  appear  so,"  replied  Huldbrand. 

"  Well !"  exclaimed  the  maiden  laughing,  "  this  is  beyond 
belief ;  she  must  be  very  stupid  and  heartless.  To  drive  from 
her  one  who  was  dear  to  her  !  And,  worse  than  all,  into  that 
ill-omened  wood !  The  wood  and  its  mysteries,  for  all  I  should 
have  cared,  might  have  waited  a  long  while." 

"  Yesterday  morning,  then,"  pursued  the  knight,  smiling 
brightly  upon  Undine,  "  I  set  out  from  the  city,  my  enterprise 
before  me.  The  early  light  lay  rich  upon  the  verdant  turf  It 
shone  so  rosy  on  the  slender  boles  of  the  trees,  and  there  was  so 
merry  a  whispering  among  the  leaves,  that  in  my  heart  I  cou]d 

'*not  but  laugh  at  people,  who  feared  meeting  any  thing  to  ter- 
rify them  in  a  spot  so  delicious.  *  I  shall  soon  trot  through  the 
forest,  and  as  speedily  return,'  I  said  to  myself  in  the  overflow  of 

'  joyous  feeling ;  and  ere  I  was  well  aware,  I  had  entered  deep 
among  the  green  shades,  while  of  the  plain  that  lay  behind  me, 
I  was  no  more  able  to  catch  a  glimpse. 

"  Then  the  conviction  for  the  first  time  impressed  me,  that 
in  a  forest  of  so  great  extent  I  might  very  easily  become  bewil- 


23 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  it. 


dered,  and  that  this  perhaps  might  be  the  only  danger,  which 
was  Hkely  to  threaten  those  who  explored  its  recesses.  So  I 
made  a  halt,  and  turned  myself  in  the  direction  of  the  sun, 
which  had  meantime  risen  somewhat  higher  ;  and  while  I  was 
looking  up  to  observe  it,  I  saw  something  black  among  the 
boughs  of  a  lofty  oak.  My  first  thought  was, — '  It  is  a  bear !' 
and  I  grasped  my  weapon  of  defence  ;  the  object  then  accosted 
me  from  above  in  a  human  voice,  but  n  a  tone  most  narsh  and 
hideous :  '  If  I  overhead  here  do  not  gnaw  off  these  dry  branches, 
Sir  Wiseacre,  what  shall  we  have  to  roast  you  with,  when  mid- 
night comes?'  And  with  that  it  grinned,  and  made  such  a  rat- 
thng  with  the  branches,  that  my  courser  became  mad  with  af- 
fright, and  rushed  furiously  forward  with  me,  before  I  had  time 
to  see  distinctly  what  sort  of  a  devil's  beast  it  was." 

"  You  must  not  name  it,"  said  the  old  fisherman,  crossing 
himself ;  his  wife  did  the  same  without  speaking  a  word  ;  and 
Undine,  while  her  eye  sparkled  with  glee,  looked  at  her  beloved 
knight  and  said :  "  The  best  of  the  story  is,  however,  that  as 
yet  they  have  not  actually  roasted  you.  But  pray  make  haste, 
my  handsome  young  friend.    I  long  to  hear  more." 

The  knight  then  went  on  with  his  adventures  :  "  My  horse 
was  so  wild,  that  he  well-nigh  rushed  with  me  against  limbs 
and  trunks  of  trees.  He  was  dripping  with  sweat,  through 
terror,  heat,  and  the  violent  straining  of  his  muscles.  Still  he 
refused  to  slacken  his  career.  At  last,  altogether  beyond  my 
control,  he  took  his  course  directly  up  a  stony  steep  ;  when 
suddenly  a  tall  white  man  flashed  before  me,  and  threw  him- 
self athwart  the  way  my  mad  steed  was  taking.  At  this  appa- 
rition he  shuddered  with  new  affright,  and  stopt,  trembling.  I 
took  this  chance  of  recovering  my  command  of  him,  and  now 
for  the  first  time  perceived,  that  my  deliverer,  so  far  from  being 
a  white  man,  was  only  a  brook  of  silver  brightness,  foaming 
near  me  in  its  descent  from  the  hill,  while  it  crossed  and  arrested 
my  horse's  course  with  its  rush  of  waters." 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  dear  Brook,"  cried  Undine,  clapping  her 


CHAP  IV.j 


UNDINE. 


23 


little  hands.  But  the  old  man  shook  his  head,  and,  deeply- 
musing-,  looked  vacantly  down  before  him. 

"  Hardly  had  I  well  settled  myself  in  my  saddle,  and  got  the 
reins  in  my  grasp  again,"  Huldbrand  pursued,  "  when  a  wizard- 
like dwarf  of  a  man  was  already  standing  at  my  side,  diminu- 
tive and  ugly  beyond  conception,  his  complexion  of  a  brownish 
yellow,  and  his  nose  scarcely  of  less  magnitude  than  all  the 
rest  of  him.  The  fellow's  mouth  was  slit  almost  from  ear  to 
ear,  and  he  showed  his  teeth  with  a  simpering  smile  of  .jdiot 
courtesy,  while  he  overwhelmed  me  with  bows  and  scrapes  in- 
numerable. The  farce  now  becoming  excessively  irksome,  I 
thanked  him  in  the  fewest  words  I  could  well  use,  turned  about 
my  still  trembling  charger,  and  purposed  either  to  seek  another 
adventure,  or,  should  I  meet  with  none,  to  pick  my  way  back 
to  the  city ;  for  the  sun,  during  my  wild  chase,  had  passed  the 
meridian,  and  was  now  hastening  toward  the  west.  But  this 
villain  of  a  manikin  sprung  at  the  same  instant,  and,  with  a  turn 
as  rapid  as  lightning,  stood  before  my  horse  again.  '  Clear  the 
way  there !'  I  fiercely  shouted ;  '  the  beast  is  wild,  and  will 
make  nothing  of  running  over  you.' 

"  'He  wdll,  will  he  !'  cried  the  imp  with  a  snarl,  and  snorting 
out  a  laugh  still  more  frightfully  idiotic  ;  '  pay  me,  first  pay 
what  you  owe  me, — I  stopt  your  fine  little  nag  for  you ;  without 
my  help,  both  you  and  he  would  be  now  sprawling  below 
there  in  that  stony  ravine.  Hu !  from  what  a  horrible  plunge 
I've  saved  you.' 

" '  Well,  pray  don't  stretch  your  mouth  any  wider,'  said  I, 
'  but  take  your  drink-money  and  be  off,  though  every  word  you 
say  is  false.  See,  it  was  the  kind  brook  there,  you  miserable 
thing,  and  not  you,  that  saved  me.'  And  at  the  same  time  I 
dropt  a  piece  of  gold  into  his  wizard  cap,  which  he  had  taken 
from  his  head  while  he  was  begging  before  me. 

"  I  then  trotted  off  and  left  him ;  but,  to  make  bad  worse,  he 
screamed  after  me,  and  on  a  sudden,  with  inconceivable  quick- 
ues^^,  he  was  close  by  my  side.    1  started  my  horse  into  a  gal- 


94 


UNDINE. 


CHAP,  rv 


lop ;  he  galloped  on  with  me,  impossible  for  him  as  it  appeared ; 
and  with  this  strange  movement,  half  ludicrous  and  half  horri- 
ble, forcing  at  the  same  time  every  limb  and  feature  into  distor- 
tion, he  kept  raising  the  gold  piece  as  high  as  he  could  stretch 
his  arm,  and  screaming  at  every  leap  :  '  Counterfeit !  false ! 
false  coin !  counterfeit !'  and  such  were  the  croaking  sounds  that 
issued  from  his  hollow  breast,  you  would  have  supposed,  that, 
every  time  he  made  them,  he  must  have  tumbled  upon  the 
ground  dead.  All  this  while,  his  disgusting  red  tongue  hung 
lolling  far  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Discomposed  at  the  sight,  I  stopped  and  asked  him :  '  What 
do  3^ou  mean  by  your  screaming  ?  Take  another  piece  of  gold, 
take  two  more, — but  leave  me.' 

"  He  then  began  to  make  his  hideous  salutations  of  courtesy 
again,  and  snarled  out  as  before :  '  Not  gold,  it  shall  not  be 
gold,  my  smart  young  gentleman  ;  I  have  too  much  of  that 
trash  already,  as  I  will  show  you  in  no-time.' 

"  At  that  moment,  and  thought  itself  could  not  have  been 
more  instantaneous,  I  seemed  to  have  acquired  new  powers  of 
sight.  I  could  see  through  the  solid  green  plain,  as  if  it  were 
green  glass,  and  the  smooth  surface  of  the  earth  were  round  as 
a  globe ;  and  within  it  I  saw  crowds  of  goblins,  who  were  pur- 
suing their  pastime,  and  making  themselves  merry  with  silver 
and  gold.  They  were  tumbling  and  rolling  about,  heads  up 
and  heads  down :  they  pelted  one  another  in  sport  with  the 
precious  metals,  and  with  irritating  malice  blew  gold  dust  in 
one  another's  eyes.  My  odious  companion  stood  half  within 
and  half  without ;  he  ordered  the  others  to  reach  him  up  a  vast 
quantity  of  gold ;  this  he  showed  to  me  with  a  laugh,  and  then 
flung  it  again  ringing  and  chinking  do^vn  the  measureles? 
abyss. 

"  After  this  contemptuous  disregard  of  gold,  he  held  up  the 
piece  I  had  given  him,  showing  it  to  his  brother  gnomes  below, 
and  they  laughed  themselves  half  dead  at  a  bit  so  worthless, 
and  hissed  me.  At  last,  raising  their  fingers  all  smutched  with 
ore,  they  pointed  them  at  me  in  scorn,  and  wilder  and  wilder, 


CHAP.  IV.J 


UNDINE. 


25 


and  thicker  and  thicker,  and  madder  and  madder,  the  crowd 
were  clambering  up  to  where  I  sat  gazing  at  these  wonders. 
Then  terror  seized  me,  as  it  had  before  seized  my  horse.  I 
drove  my  spurs  into  his  sides ;  and  how  far  he  rushed  headlong 
with  me  through  the  forest,  during  this  second  of  my  wild  heats, 
it  is  impossible  to  say. 

"  At  ..ast,  when  I  had  now  come  to  a  dead  halt  again,  the 
cool  of  evening  was  around  me.  I  caught  the  gleam  of  a  white 
foot-path  through  the  branches  of  the  trees ;  and  presuming  it 
would  lead  me  out  of  the  forest  toward  the  city,  I  was  desirous 
of  working  my  way  into  it ;  but  a  face  perfectly  white  and  in- 
distinct, with  features  forever  changing,  kept  thrusting  itself  out 
and  peering  at  me  between  the  leaves.  I  tried  to  avoid  it; 
but  wherever  I  went,  there  too  appeared  the  unearthly  face. 
I  was  maddened  with  rage  at  this  interruption,  and  drove  my 
steed  at  the  appearance  fall-tilt ;  when  such  a  cloud  of  white 
foam  came  rushing  upon  me  and  my  horse,  that  we  were  al- 
most blinded  and  glad  to  turn  about  and  escape.  Thus  from 
step  to  step  it  forced  us  on,  and  ever  aside  from  the  foot-path, 
leaving  us,  for  the  most  part,  only  one  direction  open.  But 
when  we  advanced  in  this,  although  it  kept  following  close 
behind  us,  it  did  not  occasion  the  smallest  harm  or  inconve- 
r^ience. 

"  At  times,  when  I  looked  about  me  at  the  form,  I  perceived 
that  the  white  face,  which  had  splashed  upon  us  its  shower  of 
foam,  was  resting  on  a  body  equally  white  and  of  more  than 
gigantic  size.  Many  a  time,  too,  I  received  the  impression, 
that  the  whole  appearance  was  nothing  more  than  a  wandering 
stream  or  torrent,  but  respecting  this  I  could  never  attain  to 
any  certaint}^  We  both  of  us,  horse  and  rider,  became  weary, 
as  we  shaped  our  course  according  to  the  movements  of  the 
white  man,  who  continued  nodding  his  head  at  us,  as  if  he 
would  say,  '  Perfectly  right !  perfectly  right !' — And  thus,  at 
length,  we  came  out  here  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  where  I  saw 
the  fresh  turf,  the  waters  of  the  lake,  and  your  little  cottage, 
and  where  the  tall  white  man  disappeared." 


26  UNDINE.  [chap.  iv. 

"  Well,  Heaven  be  praised  that  he  is  gone !"  cried  the  old 
fisherman ;  and  he  now  fell  to  considering  how  his  guest  could 
most  conveniently  return  to  his  friends  in  the  city.  Upon  ihis, 
Undine  began  tittering  to  herself,  but  so  very  low  that  the 
Bound  was  hardly  perceivable.  Huldbrand,  observing  it,  said : 
"  I  had  hoped  you  would  see  me  remain  here  with  pleasure ; 
why  then  do  you  now  appear  so  happy,  when  our  talk  turns 
upon  my  going  away  ?" 

"  Because  you  cannot  go  away,"  answered  Undine.  "  Pray 
make  a  single  attempt ;  try  with  a  wherr}^,  with  your  horse 
or  alone,  as  you  please,  to  cross  that  forest-stream  which  has 
burst  its  bounds.  Or  rather,  make  no  trial  at  all,  for  you 
would  be  dashed  to  pieces  by  the  stones  and  trunks  of  trees, 
which  you  see  driven  on  with  such  violence.  And  as  to  the 
lake,  I  am  well  acquainted  with  that ;  even  my  father  dares 
not  venture  out  with  his  wherry  far  enough  to  help  you." 

Huldbrand  rose,  smiling,  in  order  to  look  about,  and  observe 
whether  the  state  of  things  were  such,  as  Undine  had  repre- 
sented it  to  be  ;  the  old  man  accompanied  him,  and  the  maiden, 
in  mockery,  went  gamboling  and  playing  her  antics  beside 
them.  They  found  all,  in  fact,  just  as  Undine  had  said,  and  that 
the  knight,  whether  walling  or  not  willing,  must  submit  to  re- 
main on  the  island,  so  lately  a  peninsula,  until  the  flood  should 
subside. 

When  the  three  were  now  returning  to  the  cottage,  after 
their  ramble,  the  knight  whispered  in  the  ear  of  the  little  girl : 
"  Well,  dear  Undine,  how  is  it  with  you  ?  Are  you  angry  on 
account  of  my  remaining  ?" 

"  Ah,"  she  pettishly  made  answer,  "  not  a  word  of  that.  If 
I  had  not  bitten  you,  who  knows  what  line  things  you  would 
have  put  into  your  story  about  Bctalda !" 


CHAP.  V.J 


UNDINE. 


27 


CHAPTER  V. 

How  the  Knight  Hired  on  the  point  of  land,  now  encircled  by  the  lake. 

At  some  period  of  your  life,  my  dear  reader,  after  being  much 
driven  to  and  fro  in  the  world,  you  may  have  reached  a  situa- 
tion where  all  was  well  with  you ;  that  love  for  the  calm  secu- 
rity of  our  own  fireside,  which  we  all  feel  as  an  affection  born 
with  us,  again  rose  within  you  ;  you  imagined  that  your  home 
would  again  bloom  forth,  as  from  a  cherished  grave,  with  all 
the  flowers  of  childhood,  the  purest  and  most  impassioned  love ; 
and  that,  in  such  a  spot,  it  must  be  delightful  to  take  up  your 
abode,  and  build  your  tabernacle  for  life.  Whether  you  were 
mistaken  in  this,  and  afterward  made  a  severe  expiation  for  your 
error,  it  suits  not  my  purpose  to  inquire,  and  you  would  be  un- 
willing yourself,  it  may  be,  to  be  saddened  by  a  recollection  so 
ungrateful.  But  again  awake  within  you  that  foretaste  of  bliss, 
so  inexpressibly  sweet,  that  angelic  salutation  of  peace,  and  you 
will  be  able,  perchance,  to  understand  something  of  the  knight 
Huldbrand's  happiness,  while  he  remained  on  the  point  of  land, 
now  surrounded  by  the  lake. 

He  frequently  observed,  and  no  doubt  with  heartfelt  satis- 
faction, that  the  forest-stream  continued  every  day  to  swell  and 
loll  on  with  a  more  impetuous  sweep  ;  that,  by  tearing  away 
the  earth,  it  scooped  out  a  broader  and  broader  channel ;  and 
that  the  time  of  his  seclusion  on  the  island  became,  in  conse- 
quence, more  and  more  extended.  Part  of  the  day  he  wan- 
dered about  with  an  old  cross-bow,  which  he  found  in  a  corner 
of  the  cottage,  and  had  repaired,  in  order  to  shoot  the  water- 
fowl that  flew  over ;  and  all  that  he  was  lucky  enough  to  hit, 
he  brought  home  for  a  good  roast  in  the  kitchen.  When  he 
came  in  with  his  booty,  Undine  seldom  failed  to  greet  him  Avith 


1 

28  UNDINE.  [chap.  t. 

a  scolding,  because  he  had  cruelly  deprived  her  dear  merry 
friends  of  life,  as  they  were  sporting  above  in  the  blue  ocean 
of  the  air;  nay  more,  she  often  wept  bitterly,  when  she  viewed 
the  water-fowl  dead  in  his  hand.  But  at  other  times,  when  he 
returned  without  having  shot  any,  she  gave  him  a  scolding 
equally  serious,  since,  owing  to  his  indolent  strolling  and  awk- 
ward handling  of  the  bow,  they  must  now  put  up  with  a  dinner 
of  pickerel  and  crawfish.  Her  playful  taunts  ever  touched  his 
heart  with  delight ;  the  more  so,  as  she  afterwards  strove  to 
make  up  for  her  pretended  ill-humour  with  the  most  endearing 
of  caresses. 

In  this  familiarity  of  the  young  people,  their  aged  friends 
saw  a  resemblance  to  the  feelings  of  their  own  youth :  they  ap- 
peared to  look  upon  them  as  betrothed,  or  even  as  a  young 
married  pair,  that  lived  with  them  in  their  agepto  afford  them 
assistance -on  their  island,  now  torn  off  from  the  mainland. 
The  loneliness  of  his  situation  strongly  impressed  also  young 
Huldbrand  with  the  feeling,  that  he  was  already  Undine's 
bridegroom.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  if,  beyond  those  encompass- 
ing floods,  there  were  no  other  world  in  existence,  or  at  any 
rate  as  if  he  could  never  cross  them,  and  again  associate  with 
the  world  of  other  men ;  and  when  at  times  his  grazing  steed 
raised  his  head  and  neighed  to  him,  seemingly  inquiring  after 
his  nightly  achievements  and  reminding  him  of  them,  or  when 
his  coat  of  arms  sternly  shone  upon  him  from  the  embroidery  * 
of  his  saddle,  and  the  caparisons  of  his  horse,  or  when  his 
sword  happened  to  fall  from  the  nail  on  which  it  was  hanging 
in  the  cottage,  and  flashed  on  his  eye  as  it  slipped  from  the 
scabbard  in  its  fall, — he  quieted  the  doubts  of  his  mind  by  say- 
ing to  himself:  "  Undine  cannot  be  a  fisherman's  daughter ;  she 
is,  in  all  probability,  a  native  of  some  remote  region,  and  a 
member  of  some  illustrious  family." 

There  was  one  thing,  indeed,  to  which  he  had  a  strong  aver-  ' 
sion :  this  was  to  hear  the  old  dame  reproving  Undine.  The 
wild  girl,  it  is  true,  commonly  laughed  at  the  reproof,  making 
no  attempt  to  conceal  the  extravagance  of  her  mirth ;  but  it  ap- 


CHAP,  v.] 


*  UNDINE. 


89 


peared  to  him  like  touching  his  own  honour ;  and  still  he  found 
it  impossible  to  blame  the  aged  wife  of  the  fisherman,  since  Un- 
dine always  deserved  at  leasi  ten  times  as  many  reproofs  as  she 
received :  so  he  continued  to  feel  in  his  heart  an  affectionate 
tenderness  for  them  all,  even  for  the  ancient  mistress  of  the 
house,  and  his  whole  life  flowed  on  in  the  calm  stream  of  con- 
tentment. 

There  came,  however,  an  interruption  at  last.  The  fisher- 
man and  the  knight  had  been  accustomed  at  dinner,  and  also  in 
the  evening,  when  the  wind  roared  without,  as  it  rarely  failed 
to  do  toward  night,  to  enjoy  together  a  flask  of  wine.  But  now 
their  whole  stock,  which  the  fisherman  had  from  time  to  time 
brought  with  him  from  the  city,  was  at  last  exhausted,  and 
they  were  both  quite  out  of  humour  at  the  circumstance.  That 
day  Undine  laughed  at  them  excessively,  but  they  were  not 
disposed  to  join  in  her  jests  with  the  same  gaiety  as  usual  To- 
ward evening  she  went  out  of  the  cottage,  to  escape,  as  she  said, 
the  sight  of  two  such  long  and  tiresome  faces. 

While  it  was  yet  twilight,  some  appearances  of  a  tempest 
seemed  to  be  agam  nmsiering  in  the  sky,  and  the  waves  al- 
ready rushed  and  roared  around  them :  the  knight  and  the 
fisherman  sprung  to  the  door  in  terror,  to  bring  home  the 
maiden,  remembering  the  anguish  of  that  night,  when  Huld- 
brand  had  first  entered  the  cottage.  But  Undine  met  them  at 
the  same  moment,  clapping  her  little  hands  in  high  glee. 

"  What  will  you  give  me,"  she  cried,  "  to  provide  you  with 
wine  ?  or  rather,  you  need  not  give  me  any  thing,"  she  contin- 
ued ;  "  for  I  am  already  satisfied,  if  you  look  more  cheerful, 
and  are  in  better  spirits,  than  throughout  this  last  most  weari- 
some day.  Do  only  come  with  me  one  minute  ;  the  forest- 
stream  has  driven  ashore  a  cask ;  and  I  will  be  condemned  to 
sleep  a  whole  week,  if  it  is  not  a  wine-cask." 

The  men  followed  her,  and  actually  found,  in  f»  bushy  cove 
of  the  shore,  a  cask,  which  inspired  them  with  as  much  joy,  acs 
if  they  were  sure  it  contained  the  generous  old  wine,  for  which 
they  were  thirsting.    They  first  of  all,  and  with  as  much  ex- 


30 


UNDINE. 


[chap  V 


pedition  as  possible  rolled  it  toward  the  cottage ;  for  heavy 
clouds  were  again  rising  in  the  west,  and  they  could  discern  the 
waves  of  the  lake,  in  the  fading  light,  lifting  their  white  foam- 
ing heads,  as  if  looking  out  for  the  rain,  which  threatened  every 
instant  to  pour  upon  them.  Undine  helped  the  men,  as  much 
as  she  was  able  ;  and  as  the  shower,  with  a  roar  of  wind,  came 
suddenly  sweeping  on  in  rapid  pursuit,  she  raised  her  finger 
with  a  merry  menace  toward  the  dark  mass  of  clouds,  and 
cried :  "  You  cloud,  you  cloud,  have  a  care ! — beware  how  you 
wet  us ;  we  are  some  way  from  shelter  yet." 

The  old  man  reproved  her  for  this  sally,  as  a  sinful  presump- 
tion ;  but  she  laughed  to  herself  with  a  low  tittering,  and  no 
mischief  came  from  her  wild  behaviour.  Nay  more,  what  was 
beyond  their  expectation,  they  all  three  reached  their  comfort- 
able hearth  unwet,  with  their  prize  secured ;  but  the  moment 
the  cask  had  been  broached,  and  proved  to  contain  wine  of  a 
remarkably  fine  flavour,  then  the  rain  first  poured  unrestrained 
from  the  black  cloud,  the  tempest  raved  through  the  tops  of  the 
trees,  and  swept  far  over  the  billows  of  the  deep. 

Having  immediately  filled  several  bottles  from  the  large  cask, 
which  promised  them  a  supply  for  a  long  time,  they  drew  round 
the  flowing  hearth  ;  and  comfortably  secured  from  the  violence 
of  the  storm,  they  sat  tasting  the  flavour  of  their  wine,  and  ban- 
dying their  quips  and  pleasantries. 

As  reflection  returned  upon  him,  the  old  fisherman  all  at  once 
became  very  grave,  and  said :  "  Ah,  great  God !  here  we  sit, 
rejoicing  over  this  rich  gift,  while  he  to  whom  it  first  belonged, 
and  I'rom  whom  it  was  wrested  by  the  fury  of  the  stream,  must 
there  also,  it  is  more  than  probable,  have  lost  his  life." 

"  His  fate,  I  trust,  was  not  quite  so  melancholy  as  that,"  said 
Undine,  while,  smilino^,  she  filled  the  knight's  cup  to  the  brim. 

*But  he  exclaimed  :  "  By  my  unsullied  honour,  old  father,  if 
I  knew  where  to  find  and  rescue  him,  no  fear  of  exposure  to 
the  night,  nor  any  peril,  should  deter  me  from  making  the  at- 
tempt. But  I  give  you  all  the  assurance  I  am  able  to  give,  that 
if  1  ever  reach  an  inhabited  country  again,  I  will  find  out  tha 


CHAP.  V  ] 


UNDINE. 


31 


owner  of  this  wine  or  his  heirs,  and  make  double  and  triple  re- 
imbursement." 

The  old  man  was  gratified  with  this  assurance  ;  he  gave  the 
knight  a  nod  of  approbation,  and  now  drained  his  cup  with  an 
easier  conscience  and  more  relish. 

Undine,  however,  said  to  Huldbrand  :  "  As  to  the  repayment 
and  your  gold,  you  may  do  whatever  you  like.  But  what  you 
said  about  your  venturing  out,  and  searchinij-,  and  exposing 
yourself  to  danger,  appears  to  me  far  from  wise.  I  should  cry 
my  very  eyes  out,  should  you  perish  there  on  such  a  wild  jaunt ; 
and  is  it  not  true,  that  you  would  prefer  staying  here  with  me 
and  the  good  wine  ?" 

"  Most  assuredly,"  answered  Huldbrand,  smiling. 

"  Well,  then,"  replied  Undine,  "  you  see  you  spoke  unwise- 
ly. For  charity  begins  at  home  ;  our  neighbour  ought  not  to 
be  our  first  thought ;  and  whatever  is  a  calamity  to  him,  would 
be  one  in  our  own  case  also." 

The  mistress  of  the  house  turned  away  from  her,  sighing  and 
shaking  her  head,  while  the  fisherman  forgot  his  wonted  indul- 
gence toward  the  graceful  little  girl,  and  thus  reproved  her : 

"  That  sounds  exactly  as  if  you  had  been  brought  up  by 
heathens  and  Turks;"  and  he  finished  his  reproof  by  adding : 
"  May  God  forgive  both  me  and  you, — unfeeling  child  !" 

"  Well,  say  what  you  will,  this  is  what  /  think  and  feel,"  re- 
plied Undine,  "  whoever  brought  me  up, — and  how  can  a  thou- 
sand of  your  words  help  it  ?" 

"  Silence  !"  exclaimed  the  fisherman  in  a  voice  of  stern  re- 
buke ;  and  she,  who  with  all  her  wild  spirit  was  at  the  same 
time  extremely  alive  to  fear,  shrunk  from  him,  moved  close  up 
to  Huldbrand,  trembling,  and  said  very  softly  : 

"  Are  you  also  angry,  dear  friend  ?"  ' 

The  knight  pressed  her  soft  hand,  and  tenderly  stroked  her 
locks.  He  was  unable  to  utter  a  word  ;  for  his  vexation,  aris- 
ing from  the  old  man's  severity  toward  Undine,  closed  his  lips  ; 
and  thus  the  two  couple  sat  opposite  to  pach  other  at  once 
heated  with  anger  and  in  embarrassed  silence. 


32 


UNDINE. 


LCHAP.  VL 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  Wedding. 

In  the  midst  of  this  painful  stillness,  a  low  knockii  g  was  heard 
at  the  door,  which  struck  all  in  the  cottage  with  dismay  ;  for 
there  are  times  when  a  slight  circumstance,  coming  unexpect- 
edly upon  us,  startles  us  like  something  supernatural.  But 
here  it  was  a  further  source  of  alarm,  that  the  enchanted  forest 
lay  so  near  them,  and  that  their  place  of  ahode  seemed  at  pre- 
sent inaccessible  to  the  visit  of  any  human  being.  While  they 
were  looking  upon  one  another  in  doubt,  the  knocking  was 
again  heard,  accompanied  with  a  deep  groan.  The  knight 
sprang  to  seize  his  sword.  But  the  old  man  said  in  a  low 
whisper : 

"  If  it  be  what  I  fear  it  is,  no  weapon  of  yours  can  protect 
us." 

Undine,  in  the  mean  while,  went  to  the  door,  and  cried  with 
the  firm  voice  of  fearless  displeasure :  "  Spirits  of  the  earth ! 
if  mischief  be  your  aim,  Kuhleborn  shall  teach  you  better 
manners." 

The  terror  of  the  rest  was  increased  by  this  wild  speech  ; 
they  looked  fearfully  upon  the  girl,  and  Huldbrand  was  just 
recovering  presence  of  mind  enough  to  ask  what  she  meant, 
when  a  voice  reached  them  from  without : 

"  I  am  no  spirit  of  the  earth,  though  a  spirit  still  in  its 
earthly  body.  You  that  are  within  the  eottage  there,  if  you 
fear  God  and  would  afford  me  assistance,  open  your  door  to 
me." 

By  the  time  these  words  were  spoken.  Undine  had  already 
opened  it ;  and  the  lamp  throwing  a  strong  light  upon  the  stormy 
night,  they  perceived  an  aged  priest  without,  who  stepped  back 


OWAP.  VI  ] 


UNDIJNE. 


33 


in  terror,  when  his  eye  fell  on  the  unexpected  sight  of  a  little 
damsel  of  such  exquisite  beauty.  Well  might  he  think  there 
must  be  magic  in  the  wind,  and  witchcraft  at  work,  where  a 
form  of  such  surpassing  loveliness  appeared  at  the  door  of  so 
humble  a  dwelling.    So  he  lifted  up  his  voice  in  prayer : 

"  Let  all  good  spirits  praise  the  Lord  God !" 

"  I  am  no  spectre,"  said  Undine  with  a  smile.  "  Do  you 
think,  indeed,  I  look  so  very  frightful?  And  more, — you  cannot 
but  bear  me  witness  yourself,  that  I  am  far  from  shrinking  ter- 
rified at  your  holy  words.  I  too  have  knowledge  of  God,  and 
understand  the  duty  of  praising  him  ;  every  one,  to  be  sure,  has 
his  own  way  of  doing  this,  and  this  privilege  he  meant  we 
should  enjoy,  when  he  gave  us  being.  Walk  in,  father  ;  you 
will  find  none  but  worthy  people  here." 

The  holy  man  came  bowing  in,  and  cast  round  a  glance  of 
scrutiny,  wearing  at  the  same  time  a  very  placid  and  venerable 
air.  But  water  was  dropping  from  every  fold  of  his  dark  gar- 
ments, from  his  long  white  beard,  and  the  w^hite  locks  of  his 
hair.  The  fisherman  and  the  knight  took  him  to  another  apart- 
ment, and  furnished  him  with  a  change  of  raiment,  while  they 
handed  his  own  clothes  into  the  room  they  had  left,  for  the  fe- 
males to  dry.  The  aged  stranger  thanked  them  in  a  manner 
the  most  humble  and  courteous,  but  on  the  knight's  offering  him 
his  splendid  cloak  to  wrap  round  him,  he  could  not  be  persuaded 
to  take  it,  but  chose  instead  an  old  gray  overcoat  that  belonged 
to  the  fisherman. 

They  then  returned  to  the  common  apartment.  The  mis- 
tress of  the  house  immediately  offered  her  great  chair  to  the 
priest,  and  continued  urging  it  upon  him,  till  she  saw  him  fairly 
in  possession  of  it.  "  You  are  old  and  exhausted,"  said  she, 
"  and  are  moreover  a  man  of  God." 

Undine  shoved  under  the  stranger's  feet  her  little  cricket,  cri 
which  at  other  times  she  used  to  sit  near  to  Huldbrand,  and 
showed  herself,  in  thus  promoting  the  comfort  of  the  worthy  old 
man,  in  the  highest  degree  gentle  and  amiable.  On  her  paying 
4 


34 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  VI. 


nim  these  little  attentions,  Huldbrand  whispered  some  raillery 
in  her  ear,  but  she  replied  gravely : 

"  He  is  a  minister  of  that  Being,  who  created  us  all,  and 
holy  things  are  not  to  be  treated  with  lightness." 

The  knight  and  the  fisherman  now  refreshed  the  priest  with 
food  and  wine ;  and  when  he  had  somewhat  recovered  his 
strength  and  spirits,  he  began  to  relate  how  he  had  the  day  be- 
fore set  out  from  his  cloister,  which  was  situated  afar  off  beyond 
the  great  lake,  in  order  to  visit  the  bishop,  and  acquaint  him 
with,  the  distress,  into  which  the  cloister  and  its  tributary  vil- 
lages had  fallen,  owing  to  the  extraordinary  floods.  After  a 
long  and  wearisome  wandering,  on  account  of  the  same  rise 
of  the  waters,  he  had  been  this  day  compelled  toward  evening 
to  procure  the  aid  of  a  couple  of  stout  boatmen,  and  cross  over 
an  arm  of  the  lake  which  had  burst  its  usual  boundary. 

"  But  hardly,"  continued  he,  "  had  our  small  ferry-boat 
touched  the  waves,  when  that  furious  tempest  burst  forth,  which 
is  still  rag-inof  over  our  heads.  It  seemed  as  if  the  billows  had 
been  waiting  our  approach,  only  to  rush  upon  us  with  a  mad- 
ness the  more  wild.  The  oars  were  wrested  from  the  grasp  of 
my  men  in  an  instant ;  and  shivered  by  the  resistless  force, 
they  drove  further  and  further  out  before  us  upon  the  waves. 
Unable  to  direct  our  course,  w^e  yielded  to  the  blind  power  of 
nature,  and  seemed  to  fly  over  the  surges  toward  your  remote 
shore,  which  we  already  saw  looming  through  the  mist  and 
foam  of  the  deep.  Then  it  was  at  last,  that  our  boat  turned 
short  from  its  course,  and  rocked  with  a  motion  that  became 
more  and  more  wild  and  dizzy :  I  know  not  whether  it  was 
overset,  or  the  violence  of  the  motion  threw  me  overboard. 
In  my  agony  and  struggle  at  the  thought  of  a  near  and  terri- 
ble death,  the  waves  bore  me  onward,  till  one  of  them  cast  me 
ashore  here  beneath  the  trees  of  your  island." 

"  Yes,  an  island  !"  cried  the  fisherman.  "  A  short  time  ago 
it  was  only  a  point  of  land.  But  now,  since  the  forest-stream 
and  lake  have  become  all  but  mad,  it  appears  to  be  entirely 
changed." 


CHAi".  VI.] 


UNDINE. 


"  I  observed  something  of  it,"  replied  the  priest,  "  as  I  stole 
along  the  shore  in  the  obscurity  ;  and  hearing  nothing  around 
me  but  a  sort  of  wild  uproar,  I  perceived  at  last,  that  the  noise 
came  from  a  point,  exactly  where  a  beaten  foot-path  disap- 
peared. I  now  caught  the  light  in  your  cottage,  and  ventured 
hither,  where  I  cannot  sufficiently  thank  my  Father  in  heaven, 
'  '  that,  after  preserving  me  from  the  waters,  he  has  also  con- 
ducted me  to  such  pious  people  as  you  are  ;  and  the  more  so, 
as  it  is  difficult  to  say,  Avhether  I  shall  ever  behold  any  other 
persons  in  this  world  except  you  four." 

"  What  mean  you  by  those  words  ?"  asked  the  fisherman. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  then,  how  long  this  commotion  of  the  ele- 
ments will  last  ?"  returned  the  holy  man.  "  And  the  years  of 
my  pilgrimage  are  many.  The  stream  of  my  life  may  easily 
sink  into  the  ground  and  vanish,  before  the  overflowing  of 
that  forest-stream  shall  subside.  Indeed,  taking  a  general  view 
of  things,  it  is  not  impossible,  that  more  and  more  of  the  foam- 
ing waters  may  rush  in  between  you  and  yonder  forest,  until 
you  are  so  far  removed  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  that  your 
small  fishing-canoe  may  be  incapable  of  passing  over,  and  the 
inhabitants  of  the  continent  entirely  forget  you  in  your  old  age 
amid  the  dissipation  and  diversions  of  life." 

At  this  melancholy  foreboding,  the  old  lady  shrunk  back 
with  a  feeling  of  alarm,  crossed  herself,  and  cried  :  "  May  Grod 
forbid !" 

But  the  fisherman  looked  upon  her  with  a  smile,  and  said : 
"What  a  strange  being  is  man!  Suppose  the  worst  to  happen: 
our  state  would  not  be  different,  at  any  rate  your  own  would 
not,  dear  wife,  from  what  it  is  at  present.  For  have  you, 
these  many  years,  been  further  from  home  than  the  border  of 
the  forest  ?  And  have  you  seen  a  single  human  being  besides 
Undine  and  myself? — It  is  now  only  a  short  time  since  the 
coming  of  the  knight  and  the  priest.  They  will  remain  with 
us,  even  if  we  do  become  a  forgotten  island ;  so  after  all  you 
will  derive  the  best  advantage  from  the  disaster." 

^'  I  know  not,"  replied  the  ancient  dame,  "  it  is  a  disma' 


3€  UNDINE.  [chap.  vi. 

thought,  when  brought  fairly  home  to  the  mind,  that  we  are 
forever  separated  from  mankind,  even  though,  in  fact,  we  never 
do  know  nor  see  them." 

"  Then  t/ou  will  remain  with  us,  then  you  will  remain  with 
us !"  whispered  Undine  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible  and  half  sing- 
ing, while  with  the  intense  fervour  of  the  heart  she  nestled 
more  and  more  closely  to  Huldbrand's  side.  But  he  was  ab- 
sorbed in  the  deep  and  strange  musings  of  his  own  mind.  The 
region,  on  the  other  side  of  the  forest-river,  seemed,  since  the 
last  words  of  the  priest,  to  have  been  withdrawing  further  and 
iurther,  in  dim  perspective,  from  his  view ;  and  the  blooming 
island  on  which  he  lived,  grew  green  and  smiled  more  freshly 
before  the  eye  of  his  mind.  His  bride  glowed  like  the  fairest 
rose, — not  of  this  obscure  nook  only,  but  even  of  the  whole  wide 
world,  and  the  priest  was  now  present. 

Beside  these  hopes  and  reveries  of  love,  another  circumstance 
influenced  him :  the  mistress  of  the  family  was  directing  an 
angry  glance  at  the  fair  girl,  because,  even  in  the  presence  of 
the  priest,  she  was  leaning  so  fondly  on  her  darling  knight; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  she  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  out  in  harsh 
reproof  Then  was  the  resolution  of  Huldbrand  taken;  his 
heart  and  mouth  were  opened ;  and  turning  toward  the  priest, 
he  said,  "  Father,  you  here  see  before  you  an  affianced  pair,  and 
if  this  maiden  and  therse  worthy  people  of  the  island  have  no 
objection,  you  shall  unite  us  this  very  evening." 

The  aged  couple  were  both  exceedingly  surprised.  They 
had  often,  it  is  true,  thought  of  this,  but  as  yet  they  had  never 
mentioned  it ;  and  now  when  the  knight  made  the  attachment 
known,  it  came  upon  them  like  something  wholly  new  and  un- 
expected. Undine  became  suddenly  grave,  and  cast  her  eyes 
upon  the  floor  in  a  deep  reverie,  while  the  priest  made  inqui- 
ries respecting  the  circums'tances  of  their  acquaintance,  and 
a^lved  the  old  people  whether  they  gave  their  consent  to  the 
union.  After  a  great  number  of  questions  and  answers,  the 
ailair  was  arranged  to  the  satisfaction  of  all ;  and  the  mistress 
of  the  house  went  to  prepare  the  bridal  apartment  for  the  young 


CHAP  VI.] 


UNDINE. 


37 


couple,  and  also,  with  a  view  to  grace  the  nuptial  solemnity 
to  seek  for  two  consecrated  tapers,  which  she  had  for  a  long 
time  kept  hy  her  for  this  occasion. 

7.'he  knight  in  the  mean  while  busied  himself  ahout  his  gold 
chain,  for  the  purpose  of  disengaging  two  of  its-  links,  that  he 
might  make  an  exchange  of  rings  with  his  bride.  But  when 
she  saw  his  object,  she  started  from  her  trance  of  musing,  and 
exclaimed : 

"  Not  so !  my  parents  were  far  from  sending  me  into  the 
world  so  perfectly  destitute  ;  on  the  contrary,  they  must  have 
foreseen,  even  at  so  early  a  period,  that  such  a  night  as  this 
would  come." 

Thus  speaking,  she  was  out  of  the  room  m  a  mom.ent,  and  a 
moment  after  returned  with  two  costly  rings,  of  which  she 
gave  one  to  her  bridegroom,  and  kept  the  other  for  herself 
The  old  fisherman  was  beyond  measure  astonished  at  this  ;  and 
fiis  wife,  who  was  just  re-entering  the  room,  was  even  more 
surprised  than  he,  that  neither  of  them  had  ever  seen  these  jew- 
els in  the  child's  possession. 

"  My  parents,"  said  Undine,  "  made  me  sew  these  trinkets 
to  that  beautiful  raiment,  which  I  wore  the  very  day  I  came  to 
you.  They  also  charged  me  on  no  account  whatever,  to  men- 
tion  them  to  any  one  before  the  evening  I  should  be  married. 
At  the  time  of  my  coming,  therefore,  I  took  them  off  in  secret, 
and  have  kept  them  concealed  to  the  present  hour." 

The  priest  now  cut  short  all  further  questioning  and  wonder- 
ing, while  he  lighted  the  consecrated  tapers,  placed  them  on 
a  table,  and  ordered  the  bridal  pair  to  stand  directly  before  him. 
He  then  pronounced  the  few  solemn  words  of  the  ceremony, 
and  made  them  one  ;  the  elder  couple  gave  the  j^ounger  their 
blessing ;  and  the  bride,  slightly  trembling  and  thoughtful, 
leaned  upon  the  knight. 

The  priest  then  spoke  plainly  and  at  once :  "  You  are 
strange  people  after  all ;  for  why  did  you  tell  me  you  were  the 
only  inhabitants  of  the  island  ?  So  far  is  this  from  being  true, 
I  have  seen,  the  whole  time  T  have  been  performing  the  cere- 


38 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  VI 


mony,  a  tall,  stately  man,  in  a  white  mantle,  stand  opposito  to 
me,  looking  in  at  the  window.  He  must  he  still  waiting  he- 
fore  the  door,  if  peradventure  you  would  invite  him  to  come 
in." 

"  God  forhid  !"  cried  the  old  lady,  shrinking  hack ;  the  fish- 
erman shook  his  head  without  opening  his  lips,  and  Huldhrand 
sprang  to  the  window.  It  appeared  to  him^  that  he  could  still 
discern  some  vestige  of  a  form,  white  and  indistinct  as  a  va- 
pour, hut  it  soon  wholly  disappeared  in  the  gloom.  He  con- 
vinced the  priest  that  he  must  have  heen  quite  mistaken  in  his 
impression ;  and  now,  inspired  with  the  freedom  and  fa.aiiliari- 
ty  of  perfect  confidence,  they  all  sat  down  together  round  a 
bright  and  comfortable  hearth. 


CHAP.  VII.] 


UNDINE. 


39 


CHAPTER  VII. 

What  further  happened  on  the  evening  of  the  wedding. 

Before  the  nuptial  ceremony,  and  during  its  performance, 
Undine  had  shown  a  modest  gentleness  and  maidenly  reserve ; 
but  it  now  seemed  as  if  all  the  wayward  freaks  that  effervesced 
within  her,  were  foaming  and  bursting  forth  with  an  extrava- 
gance only  the  more  bold  and  unrestrained.  She  teased  her 
bridegroom,  her  foster-parents,  and  even  the  priest,  whom  she 
had  just  now  revered  so  highly,  with  all  sorts  of  childish  tricks 
and  vagaries;  and  w^hen  the  ancient  dame  was  about  to  re- 
prove her  too  frolicksome  spirit,  the  knight,  by  a  few  serious 
and  expressive  words,  imposed  silence  upon  her  by  calling  Un- 
dine his  wife. 

The  knight  was  himself,  indeed,  just  as  little  pleased  with 
Undine's  childish  behaviour  as  the  rest ;  but  still,  all  his  wink- 
ing, hemming,  and  expressions  of  censure  were  to  no  purpose. 
It  is  true,  whenever  the  bride  observed  the  dissatisfaction  of  her 
husband, — and  this  occasionally  happened, — she  became  more 
quiet,  placed  herself  beside  him,  stroked  his  face  with  caressing 
fondness,  whispered  something  smilingly  in  his  ear,  and  in  this 
manner  smoothed  the  WTinkles  that  were  gathering  on  his  brow. 
But  the  moment  after,  some  wild  whim  would  make  her  resume 
her  antic  movement^,  and  all  went  worse  than  before. 

The  priest  then  spoke  in  a  kind,  although  serious  tone :  "My 
])leasant  young  friend,  surely  no  one  can  witness  your  playful 
spirit  without  being  diverted ;  but  remember  betimes  so  to  at- 
tune your  soul,  that  it  may  produce  a  harmony  ever  in  accor- 
dance with  the  soul  of  your  wedded  bridegroom." 

"  Soul  !"  cried  Undine,  with  a  laugh,  nearly  allied  to  one  of 
derision  ;  "  what  you  say  has  a  remarkably  pretty  sound,  and 


40 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  vn. 


for  most  people,  too,  it  may  be  a  very  instructive  rule  and  profit- 
able caution.  But  when  a  person  has  no  soul  at  all,  how,  I  pray 
you,  can  such  attuning  be  possible  ?  And  this  in  truth  is  just 
my  condition." 

The  priest  was  much  hurt,  but  continued  silent  in  holy  dis- 
pleasure, and  turned  away  his  face  from  the  maiden  in  sorrow. 
She,  however,  went  up  to  him  with  the  most  winring  sweet- 
ness, and  said : 

"  Nay,  I  entreat  you,  first  listen  to  some  particulars,  before 
you  frown  upon  me  in  anger ;  for  your  frown  of  anger  is  pain- 
ful to  me,  and  you  ought  not  to  give  pain  to  a  creature,  that  has 
itself  done  nothing  injurious  to  you.  Only  have  patience  with 
me,  and  I  will  explain  to  you  every  word  of  what  I  meant." 

She  had  come  to  the  resolution,  it  was  evident,  to  give  a  full 
account  of  herself,  when  she  suddenly  faltered,  as  if  seized  with 
an  inward  shuddering,  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears.  They 
were  none  of  them  able  to  understand  the  intenseness  of  her 
feelings,  and  with  mingled  emotions  of  fear  and  anxiety,  they 
gazed  on  her  in  silence.  Then  wiping  away  her  tears,  and  look- 
ing earnestly  at  the  priest,  she  at  last  said : 

"  There  must  be  something  lovely,  but  at  the  same  time 
something  most  awful,  about  a  soul.  In  the  name  of  God, 
holy  man,  were  it  not  better  that  we  never  shared  a  gift  so  mys- 
terious  ?" 

Again  she  paused  and  restrained  her  tears,  as  if  waiting  for 
an  answer.  All  in  the  cottage  had  risen  from  their  seats,  and 
stept  back  from  her  with  horror.  She,  however,  seemed  to  have 
eyes  for  no  one  but  the  holy  man ;  a  fearful  curiosity  was  paint- 
ed on  her  features,  and  this  made  her  emotion  appear  terrible  to 
the  others. 

"  Heavily  must  the  soul  weigh  down  its  possessor,"  she  pur- 
sued, when  no  one  returned  her  any  answer,  "  very  heavily ! 
for  already  its  approaching  image  overshadows  me  with  an- 
guish and  mourning.  And,  alas !  I  have  till  now  been  so  mer- 
ry and  light-hearted !" — And  she  burst  into  another  flood  of 
tears,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  veil. 


CHAP.  VII.] 


UNDINE. 


41 


The  priest,  going  up  to  her  with  a  solemn  look,  now  addressed 
himself  to  her,  and  conjured  her  in  the  name  of  God  most  holy, 
if  any  evil  or  spirit  of  evil  possessed  her,  to  remove  the  light 
covering  from  her  face.  But  she  sunk  before  him  on  her  knees, 
and  repeated  after  him  every  sacred  expression  he  uttered, 
giving  praise  to  God,  and  protesting  that  she  wished  well  to  the 
whole  world. 

The  priest  then  spoke  to  the  knight :  "  Sir  bridegroom,  I  leave 
you  alone  with  her,  whom  I  have  united  to  you  in  marriage. 
So  far  as  I  can  discover,  there  is  nothing  of  evil  in  her,  but 
of  a  truth  much  that  is  wonderful.  What  I  recommend  to  you 
in  domestic  life,  is  prudence,  love,  and  fidelity." 

Thus  speaking,  he  left  the  apartment,  and  the  fisherman  with 
his  wife  followed  him,  crossing  themselves. 

Undine  had  sunk  upon  her  knees ;  she  uncovered  her  face 
and  exclaimed,  while  she  looked  fearfully  round  upon  Huld- 
brand :  "  Alas,  you  will  now  refuse  to  look  upon  me  as  your 
own  ;  and  still  I  have  done  nothing  evil,  poor  unhappy  child 
that  I  am  !"  She  spoke  these  words  with  a  look  so  infinitely 
sweet  and  touching,  that  her  bridegroom  forgot  both  the  con- 
fession that  had  shocked,  and  the  mystery  that  had  perplexed 
him ;  and  hastening  to  her,  he  raised  her  in  his  arms.  She 
smiled  through  her  tears,  and  that  smile  was  like  the  rosy  morn- 
ing-light playing  upon  a  small  stream.  "You  cannot  desert 
me !"  she  whispered  with  a  confiding  assurance,  and  stroked 
the  knight's  cheeks  with  her  little  soft  hands.  He  was  thus  in 
some  degree  withdrawn  from  those  terrible  apprehensions,  that 
still  lay  lurking  in  the  recesses  of  his  soul,  and  were  persuading 
him  that  he  had  been  married  to  a  fairy,  or  some  spiteful  and 
mischievous  being  of  the  spirit-world ;  but,  after  all,  only  this 
single  question,  and  that  almost  unawares,  escaped  from  his 
lips : 

"  Dearest  Undine,  pray  tell  me  this  one  thing ;  what  was  it 
you  meant  by  '  spirits  of  the  earth'  and  '  Kiihleborn,'  when  the 
priest  stood  knocking  at  the  door  ?" 

"  Mere  fictions  !  mere  tales  of  children !"  answered  Undine, 


43 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  VII. 


laughing,  now  quite  restored  to  her  Avonted  gaiety.  "  .(  first 
awoke  your  anxiety  with  them,  and  you  finally  awoke  mine. 
This  is  the  end  of  the  story  and  of  our  nuptial  evening." 

"  Nay,  not  exactly  that,"  replied  the  enamoured  knight,  ex- 
tinguishing the  tapers,  and  a  thousand  times  kissing  his  beauti- 
ful and  beloved  bride,  while,  lighted  by  the  moon  that  shone 
brightly  through  the  windows,  he  bore  her  into  their  bridal 
apartment. 


CHAP.  VIll.] 


UNDINE. 


43 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Day  after  the  Wedding.  » 

The  fresh  light  of  morning  awoke  the  young  married  pair. 
Undine  bashfully  hid  her  face  beneath  their  covering,  and 
Huldbrand  lay  lost  in  silent  reflection.  Whenever  during  the 
night  he  had  fallen  asleep,  strange  and  horrible  dreams  of 
spectres  had  disturbed  him  ;  and  these  shapes,  grinning  at  him 
by  stealth,  strove  to  disguise  themselves  as  beautiful  females ; 
and  from  beautiful  females  they  all  at  once  assumed  the  ap- 
pearance of  dragons.  And  when  he  started  up,  aroused  by  the 
intrusion  of  these  hideous  forms,  the  moonlight  shone  pale  and 
cold  before  the  windows  without ;  he  looked  affrighted  at  Un- 
dine, in  whose  arms  he  had  fallen  asleep,  and  she  was  reposing 
m  unaltered  beauty  and  sweetness  beside  him.  Then  pressing 
her  rosy  lips  with  a  light  kiss,  he  again  fell  into  a  slumber,  only 
to  be  awakened  by  new  terrors. 

When  he  had  now  perfectly  awoke,  and  well  considered  all 
the  circumstances  of  this  connection,  he  reproached  himself  for 
any  doubt,  that  could  lead  him  into  error  in  regard  to  his 
lovely  wife.  He  also  earnestly  begged  her  to  pardon  the  in- 
justice he  had  done  her,  but  she  only  gave  him  her  fair  hand, 
heaved  a  sigh  from  the  depth  of  her  heart,  and  remained  silent. 
Yet  a  glance  of  fervent  tenderness,  an  expression  of  the  soul 
beaming  in  her  eyes,  such  as  he  had  never  witnessed  there 
before,  left  him  in  undoubting  assurance,  that  Undine  was  in- 
nocent of  any  evil  against  him  whatever. 

He  then  rose  with  a  serene  mind,  and  leaving  her,  went  to 
the  common  apartment,  where  the  inmates  of  the  house  had 
already  met.  The  three  were  sitting  round  the  hearth  with  an 
air  of  anxiety  about  them,  as  if  they  feared  trusting  themselves 
to  raise  their  voice  above  a  low  apprehensive  undertone.  The 


44 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  viri. 


priest  appeared  to  be  praying  in  his  inmost  spirit,  with  a  view- 
to  avert  some  fatal  calamity.  But  when  they  observed  the 
young  husband  come  forth  so  cheerful,  a  brighter  hope  rose 
within  them,  and  dispelled  the  cloudy  traces  that  remained  upon 
their  brows  ;  yes,  the  old  fisherman  began  to  be  facetious  with 
the  knight,  but  in  a  manner  so  perfectly  becoming,  that  his  aged 
wife  herself  could  not  help  smiling  with  great  good  humour. 

Undine  had  in  the  mean  time  got  ready,  and  now  entered  the 
door,  when  they  were  all  on  the  point  of  rushing  to  meet  her, 
and  yet  all  remamed  fixed  in  perfect  admiration,  so  changed 
and  at  the  same  time  so  familiar  was  the  young  woman's  ap- 
pearance. The  priest,  with  paternal  affection  beaming  from 
his  countenance,  first  went  up  to  her,  and  as  he  raised  his  hand 
to  pronounce  a  blessing,  the  beautiful  bride,  trembling  with  re- 
ligious awe,  sunk  on  her  knees  before  him ;  she  begged  his 
pardon,  in  terms  both  respectful  and  submissive,  for  any  foolish 
things  she  might  have  uttered  the  evening  before,  and  entreated 
him,  in  a  very  pathetic  tone,  to  pray  for  the  welfare  of  her  soul. 
She  then  rose,  kissed  her  foster-parents,  and,  after  thanking  them 
for  all  the  kindness  they  had  shown  her,  said :  "  O,  I  now  feel 
in  my  inmost  heart,  how  great,  how  infinitely  great,  is  what  you 
have  done  for  me,  you  dear,  dear  friends  of  my  childhood !" 

At  first  she  was  wholly  unable  to  tear  herself  away  from  their 
affectionate  caresses ;  but  the  moment  she  saw  the  good  old 
mother  busy  in  getting  breakfast,  she  went  to  the  hearth,  applied 
herself  to  cooking  the  food  and  putting  it  on  the  table,  and 
would  not  suffer  her  to  take  the  least  share  in  the  work. 

She  continued  in  this  frame  of  spirit  the  whole  day ;  calm, 
kind,  attentive  ; — at  the  same  time  a  little  mistress  of  a  family, 
and  a  tender,  modest  young  woman.  The  three,  who  had  been 
longest  acquainted  with  her,  expected  every  instant  to  see  her 
capricious  spirit  break  out  in  some  whimsical  change  or  sportive 
vagary.  But  their  fears  were  quite  unnecessary.  Undine 
continued  as  mild  and  gentle  as  an  angel.  The  priest  found  it 
all  but  impossible  to  remove  his  eyes  from  her,  and  he  often  said 
to  the  bridegroom : 


< 


CHAP.  VlIl.J 


UNDINE. 


4t> 


"  The  bounty  of  Heaven,  Sir,  through  me  its  unworthy  in- 
strument, entrustea  to  you  last  evening  an  invaluable  treasure ; 
regard  and  cherish  it  as  you  ought  to  do,  and  it  will  promote 
your  temporal  and  eternal  welfare." 

Toward  evening,  Undine  was  hanging  upon  the  knight's  arm 
with  lowly  tenderness,  while  she  drew  him  gently  out  before 
the  dooE,  where  the  setting  sun  shone  richly  over  the  fresh  grass, 
and  upon  the  high,  slender  boles  of  the  trees.  Her  emotion  was 
visible  :  the  dew  oi"  sadness  and  love  swam  in  her  eyes,  while  a 
tender  and  fearful  secret  seemed  to  hover  upon  her  lips;  but 
sighs,  and  those  scarcely  perceptible,  were  all  that  made  known 
the  wish  of  her  heart.  She  led  her  husband  further  and  further 
onward  without  speaking.  When  he  asked  her  questions  she 
replied  only  with  looks,  in  which,  it  is  true,  there  appeared  to 
be  no  immediate  answer  to  his  inquiries,  but  yet  a  whole  heaven 
of  love  and  timid  attachment.  Thus  they  reached  the  margin 
of  the  swollen  forest-stream,  and  the  knight  was  astonished  to  see 
it  gliding  away  with  so  gentle  a  murmuring  of  its  waves,  that  no 
vestige  of  its  former  swell  and  wildness  was  now  discernible. 

"  By  morning  it  will  be  wholly  drained  off,"  said  the  beauti- 
ful woman,  almost  weeping,  "  and  you  will  then  be  able  to  travel, 
without  any  thing  to  hinder  you,  whithersoever  you  will." 

"  Not  without  you,  dear  Undine,"  replied  the  knight,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  for  pray  remember,  even  were  I  disposed  to  leave  you, 
both  the  church  and  the  spiritual  powers,  the  emperor  and  the 
laws  of  the  realm,  would  require  the  fugitive  to  be  seized  and 
restored  to  you  " 

"  AM.  this  depends  on  you, — all  depends  on  you  ;"  whispered 
his  little  companion,  half  weeping  and  half  smiling.  "  But  I 
still  feel  sure,  that  you  will  not  leave  me ;  I  love  you  too  deeply 
to  fear  that  misery.  Now  bear  me  over  to  that  little  islan  ^, 
\  'hich  lies  before  us.  There  shall  the  decision  be  made.  I 
could  easily,  indeed,  glide  through  that  mere  rippling  of  the 
water  without  your  aid,  but  it  is  so  grateful  to  rest  in  your 
arms ;  and  should  you  determine  to  put  me  away,  I  shall  have 
svycetly  rested  in  them  once  more,  .  .  .  for  the  hst  time." 


46 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  VIII. 


Huldbrand  was  so  full  of  strange  anxiety  and  emotion,  that 
he  knew  not  what  answer  to  make  her.  He  took  her  in  his 
arms  and  carried  her  over,  now  first  realizing  the  fact,  that  this 
was  the  same  little  island,  from  which  he  had  borne  her  back 
to  the  old  fisherman,  the  first  night  of  his  arrival.  On  the 
further  side,  he  placed  her  upon  the  soft  grass,  and  was  throw- 
ing himself  lovingly  near  his  beautiful  burden  ;  but  she  said  to 
him,  "  Not  here,  but  there,  opposite  to  me.  I  shaU  read  my 
doom  in  your  eyes,  even  before  your  lips  pronounce  it ;  now 
listen  very  attentively  to  what  I  shall  relate  to  you."  And 
she  began : 

"  You  must  know,  my  own  love,  that  there  are  beings  in  the 
elements,  which  bear  the  strongest  resemblance  to  the  human 
race,  and  which,  at  the  same  time,  but  seldom  become  visible 
to  you.  The  wonderful  salamanders  sparkle  and  sport  amid 
the  flames ;  deep  in  the  earth  the  meagre  and  malicious  gnomes 
pursue  their  revels ;  the  forest-spirits  belong  to  the  au',  and 
wander  in  the  woods ;  while  in  the  seas,  rivers,  and  streams 
live  the  wide-spread  race  of  water-spirits.  These  last,  beneath 
resounding  domes  of  crystal,  through  which  the  sky  appears 
with  sun  and  stars,  inhabit  a  region  of  light  and  beauty ;  lofty 
coral  trees  glow  with  blue  and  crimson  fruits  in  their  gardens  ; 
they  walk  over  the  pure  sand  of  the  sea,  among  infinitely  vari- 
egated shells,  and  amid  whatever  of  beauty  the  old  world  pos- 
sessed, such  as  the  present  is  no  more  worthy  to  enjoy  ; — crea- 
tions, which  the  floods  covered  with  their  secret  veils  of  silver : 
and  now  these  noble  monuments  glimmer  below*  stately  and 
solemn,  and  bedewed  by  the  water  wh:\jh  loves  them,  and  calls 

*  No  reader  of  English  poetry  need  be  reminded  of  Southey's  admirable 
description  of  the  submarine  City  of  Baly  in  his  Curse  of  Kehama  : 
"  In  sunlight  and  sea-green, 
The  thousand  palaces  were  seen 
Of  that  proud  city,  whose  superb  abodes 
Seemed  reared  by  giants  for  the  immortal  gods. 
How  silent  and  how  beautiful  they  stand, 
Like  tlimgs  of  ndtuie." 


CHAP.  Vlil  J 


UNDINE. 


47 


forth  from  their  crevices  exquisite  moss-fiowers  and  enwreath- 
ing  txifts  of  sedge. 

"  Now  the  nation  that  dAvell  there,  are  very  fair  and  lovely 
to  behold,  for  the  most  part  mor-e  beautiful  than  human  beings. 
Many  a  fisherman  has  been  so  fortunate,  as  to  catch  a  view  of 
a  delicate  maiden  of  the  waters,  while  she  was  floating  and 
singing  upon  the  deep.  He  then  spread  to  remotest  shores  the 
fame  of  her  beauty ;  and  to  such  wonderful  females  men  are 
wont  to  give  the  name  of  Undines.  But  what  need  pf  saying 
more  ?  You,  my  dear  husband,  now  actually  behold  an  Un- 
dine before  you." 

The  knight  would  have  persuaded  himself,  that  his  lovely 
wife  was  under  the  influence  of  one  of  her  odd  whims,  and 
that  she  was  only  amusing  herself  and  him  with  her  extrava- 
gant inventions.  He  wished  it  might  be  so.  But  with  what- 
ever power  of  words  he  said  this  to  himself,  he  still  could  not 
credit  the  hope  for  a  moment ;  a  strange  shivering  shot  through 
his  soul ;  unable  to  utter  a  word,  he  gazed  upon  the  sweet 
speaker  with  a  fixed  eye.  She  shook  her  head  in  distress, 
heaved  a  sigh  from  her  full  heart,  and  then  proceeded  in  the 
following  manner : 

"  In  respect  to  the  circumstances  of  our  life,  we  should  be  far 
superior  to  yourselves,  who  are  another  race  of  the  human 
family, — for  we  also  call  ourselves  human  beings,  as  we  re- 
semble them  in  form  and  features, — had  we  not  one  great  evil 
peculiar  to  ourselves.  Both  we,  and  the  beings  I  have  men- 
tioned as  inhabiting  the  other  elements,  vanish  into  air  at  death, 
and  go  out  of  existence,  spirit  and  body,  so  that  no  vestige  of 
us  remains  ;  and  when  you  hereafter  awake  to  a  purer  state  of 
being,  we  shall  remain  where  sand,  and  sparks,  and  wind,  and 
waves  remain.  We  of  course  have  no  souls ;  the  element  moves 
us,  and,  again,  is  obedient  to  our  will,  while  we  live,  though  it 
scatters  us  like  dust,  when  we  die ;  and  as  we  have  nothing  to 
trouble  us,  we  are  as  merry  as  nightingales,  httle  goldfishes,  and 
other  pretty  children  of  nature. 

"  But  all  beings  aspire  to  rise  in  the  scale  of  existence  higher 


48 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  Vlll 


than  they  are.  It  was  therefore  the  wish  of  my  father,  who  is 
a  powerful  water-prince  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  that  his  only 
daughter  should  become  possessed  of  a  soul,  although  she 
should  have  to  endure  many  of  the  sufferings  of  those  who 
share  that  gift. 

"  Now  the  race  to  which  I  belong,  have  no  other  means  of 
obtaining  a  soul,  than  by  forming  with  an  individual  of  your 
own  the  most  intimate  union  of  love.  I  am  now  possessed  of 
a  soul,  and  I,  the  very  soul  itself,  thank  you,  dear  Huldbrand, 
with  <x  warmth  of  heart  beyond  expression,  and  never  shall  I 
cease  to  thank  you,  unless  you  render  my  whole  future  life 
miserable.  For  what  will  become  of  me,  if  you  avoid  and 
reject  me  ?  Still  I  would  not  keep  you  as  my  own  by  artifice. 
And  should  you  decide  to  cast  me  off,  then  do  it  now,  .  .  .  leave 
me  here,  and  return  to  the  shore  alone.  I  will  plunge  into  this 
brook,  where  my  uncle  will  receive  me ;  my  uncle,  who  here 
in  the  forest,  far  removed  from  his  other  friends,  passes  his 
strange  and  solitary' existence.  But  he  is  powerful,  as  well  as 
revered  and  beloved  by  many  great  rivers  ;  and  as  he  brought 
me  hither  to  our  friends  of  the  lake,  a  light-hearted  and  laugh- 
ing child,  he  will  also  restore  me  to  the  home  of  my  parents,  a 
woman,  gifted  with  a  soul,  full  of  affection,  and  heir  to  suffer- 
ing." 

She  was  about  to  add  something  more,  when  Huldbrand, 
with  the  most  heartfelt  tenderness  and  love,  clasped  her  in  his 
arms,  and  again  bore  her  back  to  the  shore.  There,  amid  tears 
and  kisses,  he  first  swore  never  to  forsake  his  affectionate  wife, 
and  esteemed  himself  even  more  happy  than  the  Grecian  sculp- 
tor, Pygmalion,  for  whom  Venus  gave  life  to  his  beautiful  statue, 
and  thus  changed  it  into  a  beloved  wife.  Supported  by  his 
arm,  and  in  the  sweet  confidence  of  affection.  Undine  returned 
to  the  cottage  ;  and  now  she  first  realized  with  her  whole  hearl^ 
how  little  cause  she  had  for  regretting  what  she  had  left,  th« 
crystal  palaces  of  her  mysterious  father. 


cn\p  ix.j 


UNDINE. 


49 


CHAPTER  IX. 

How  the  Knight  took  his  young  wife  with  him. 

Next  morning,  when  Huldbrand  awoke  from  slumber,  and  per- 
ceived that  his  beautiful  wife  was  not  by  his  side,  he  began  to 
give  way  again  to  his  wild  imaginations :  these  represented  to 
him  his  marriage,  and  even  the  charming  Undine  herself,  as 
cnly  a  shadow  without  substance,  a  mere  illusion  of  enchant- 
ment. But  she  entered  the  door  at  the  same  moment,  kissed 
him,  seated  herself  on  the  bed  by  his  side,  and  said : 

"  I  h^ve  been  out  somewhat  early  this  morning,  to  see 
whether  my  uncle  keeps  his  word.  He  has  already  restored 
the  waters  of  the  flood  to  his  own  calm  channel,  and  he  now 
flows  through  the  forest,  a  rivulet  as  before,  in  a  lonely  and 
dreamlike  current.  His  friends  too,  both  of  the  water  and  the 
air,  have  resumed  their  usual  peaceful  tenor ;  all  in  this  region 
will  again  proceed  with  order  and  tranquillity ;  and  you  can 
travel  homeward  without  fear  of  the  flood,  whenever  you 
choose." 

It  seemed  to  the  mind  of  Huldbrand,  that  he  must  be  wrapt 
in  some  reverie  or  waking  dream,  so  little  was  he  able  to  un- 
derstand the  nature  of  his  wife's  strange  relative.  Notwith- 
standing this,  he  made  no  remark  upon  what  she  had  told  him, 
and  the  infinite  charm  of  her  beauty,  gentleness,  and  affection 
soon  lulled  every  misgiving  to  rest. 

Some  time  afterward,  while  he  was  standing  with  her  before 
the  door,  and  surveying  the  verdant  point  of  land  with  its  boun- 
dary of  bright  waters,  such  a  feeling  of  bliss  came  over  him  in 
this  cradle  of  his  love,  that  he  exclaimed : 

^  Shall  we  then,  so  early  as  to-day,  begin  our  journey  1 
5 


UNDINE. 


TCHAP.  W. 


Why  should  we  ?  It  is  probable,  that  abroad  in  the  world  \ve 
shall  find  no  days  more  delightful,  than  those  we  have  spent  in 
this  little  green  isle,  so  secret  and  so  secure.  Let  us  remain 
here,  and  see  the  sun  go  down  two  or  three  times  more." 

"  Ju^t  as  my  lord  shall  command,"  replied  Undine  meekly. 
"Only  we  must  remember,  that  our  aged  friends  ^Yil\,  at  all 
events,  see  me  depart  with  pain  ;  and  should  they  now,  for  the 
first  time,  discover  the  true  soul  in  me,  and  how  fervently  I  can 
now  love  and  honour  them,  their  feeble  eyes  would  surely  be- 
come blind  with  weeping.  As  yet,  they  consider  my  present 
calm  and  exemplary  conduct  as  of  no  better  promise  than  my 
former  occasional  quietness, — merely  t-he  calm  of  the  lake — 
just  while  the  air  remains  tranquil, — and  they  will  soon  learn 
to  cherish  a  little  tree  or  flower,  as  they  have  cherished  me. 
Let  me  not,then,make  known  to  them  this  newly  bestowed,  this 
love-inspired  heart,  at  the  very  moment  they  must  lose  it  for  this 
world ;  and  how  could  I  conceal  what  I  have  gained,  if  we 
continued  longer  together  ?" 

Huldbrand  yielded  to  her  representation,  and  went  to  the 
aged  couple  to  confer  with  them  respecting  his  journey,  on 
which  he  proposed  to  set  out  that  very  hour.  The  priest  of- 
fered himself  as  a  companion  of  the  young  married  pair ;  and, 
after  their  taking  a  short  farewell,  he  held  the  bridle,  while  the 
knight  lifted  his  beautiful  wife  upon  his  horse  ;  and  with  rapid 
step  they  crossed  the  dry  channel  with  her  toward  the  forest. 
Undine  wept  in  silent  but  intense  emotion  ;  the  old  people,  as 
she  moved  away,  were  more  clamorous  in  the  expression  of 
their  grief  They  appeared  to  feel,  at  the  moment  of  separa- 
tion, all  that  they  were  losing  in  their  affectionate  foster- 
daughter. 

The  three  travellers  reached  the  thickest  shades  of  the  forest 
without  interchanging  a  word.  It  must  have  been  a  pic- 
turesque sight,  in  that  hall  of  leafy  verdure,  to  see  this  lovely 
woman's  form  sitting  on  the  noble  and  richly  ornamented  steed, 
cji  her  ri£-bt  hand  the  venerable  priest  in  the  white  garb  of  his 
order,  on  her  left  the  blooming  young  knight,  clad  in  splendid 


CHAP.  IX.] 


UNDINE. 


51 


raiment  of  scarlet,  gold,  and  violet,  girt  with  a  sword  that 
flashed  in  the  sun,  and  attentively  walking  beside  her.  HuLi- 
brand  had  no  eyes  but  for  his  fair  wife  ;  Undine,  who  had  dried 
her  tears  of  tenderness,  had  no  eyes  but  for  him ;  and  they 
soon  entered  into  the  still  and  voiceless  converse  of  looks  and 
gestures,  from  which  after  some  time  they  were  awakened  by 
the  low  discourse,  which  the  priest  was  holding  with  a  fourth 
traveller,  who  had  meanwhile  joined  them  unobserved. 

He  wore  a  white  gown,  resembling  in  form  the  dress  of  the 
priest's  order,  except  that  his  hood  hung  very  low  over  his  face, 
and  that  the  whole  drapery  floated  in  such  wide  folds  around 
him,  as  obliged  him  every  moment  to  gather  it  up  and  throw  it 
over  his  arm,  or  by  some  management  of  this  sort  to  get  it  out 
of  his  way,  and  still  it  did  not  seem  in  the  least  to  impede  his 
movement.  When  the  young  couple  became  aware  of  his 
presence,  he  was  saying : 

"  And  so,  venerable  Sir,  many  as  have  been  the  years  I 
have  dwelt  here  in  this  forest,  I  have  never  received  the  name 
of  hermit  in  your  sense  of  the  word.  For,  as  I  said  before,  I 
know  nothing  of  penance,  and  I  think  too,  that  I  have  no  parti- 
cular need  of  it.  Do  you  ask  me  why  I  am  so  attached  to  the 
forest?  It  is  because  its  scenery  is  so  peculiarly  picturesque, 
and  affords  me  so  much  pastime,  when,  in  my  floating  white 
garments,  I  pass  through  its  world  of  leaves  and  dusky  sha* 
dows ; — and  then  a  sweet  sunbeam  glances  down  upon  me,  at 
times,  before  I  think  of  it." 

"  You  are  a  very  singular  man,"  replied  the  priest,  "  and  J 
should  like  to  have  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  you." 

"  And  who  then  may  you  be  yourself,  to  pass  from  one  thing 
to  another  ?"  inquired  the  stranger. 

"  I  am  called  father  Heilmann,"  answered  the  holy  man, 
"  and  I  am  from  the  cloister  of  our  Lady  of  the  Salutation,  be- 
yond the  lake." 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  the  stranger,  "  my  name  is  Kuhleboin^ 
and  were  I  a  stickler  for  the  nice  distinctions  of  rank,  I  might 
with  equal  propriety  require  you  to  give  me  the  title  of  noble 


53 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  IX 


lord  of  Kiihleborn,  or  free  lord  of  Kiihleborn  ;*  for  I  am  as  free 
as  a  bird  in  the  forest,  and,  it  may  be,  a  trifle  more  so.  For  ex- 
ample, I  now  have  something  to  tell  that  young  lady  there." 
And  before  they  were  aware  of  his  purpose,  he  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  priest,  close  to  Undine,  and  stretching  himself 
high  into  the  air,  in  order  to  whisper  something  in  her  ear. 
But  she  shrunk  from  him  in  terror,  and  exclaimed : 
"  I  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you." 

"  Ho,  ho,"  cried  the  stranger,  with  a  laugh,  "  you  have  made 
a  grand  marriage  indeed,  since  you  no  longer  know  your  own 
relations!  Have  you  no  recollection  of  your  uncle  Kiihle- 
born, who  so  faithfully  bore  you  on  his  back  to  this  region  ?" 

"  However  that  may  be,"  replied  Undine,  "  I  entreat  you 
never  to  appear  in  my  presence  again.  I  am  now  afraid  of 
you ;  and  will  not  my  husband  fear  and  forsake  me,  if  he  sees 
me  associate  with  such  strange  company  and  kindred  ?" 

"  You  must  not  forget,  my  little  niece,"  said  Kiihleborn, 
"  that  I  am  with  you  here  as  a  guide  ;  otherwise  those  madcap 
spirits  of  the  earth,  the  gnomes  that  haunt  this  forest,  would 
play  you  some  of  their  mischievous  pranks.  Let  me  therefore 
still  accompany  you  in  peace  ;  even  the  old  priest  there  had  a 
better  recollection  of  me,  than  you  appear  to  have ;  for  he  just 
now  assured  me,  that  I  seemed  to  be  very  familiar  to  him,  and 
that  I  must  have  been  with  him  in  the  ferry-boat,  out  of  which 
he  tumbled  into  the  waves.  He  certainly  did  see  me  there,  for 
I  was  no  other  than  the  water-spout  that  tore  him  out  of  it,  and 
kept  him  from  sinking,  while  I  safely  wafted  him  ashore  to 
your  wedding." 

Undine  and  the  knight  turned  their  eyes  upon  father  Heil- 
mann ;  but  he  appeared  to  be  moving  forward,  just  as  if  he 
were  dreaming  or  walking  in  his  sleep,  and  no  longer  to  be 
conscious  of  a  word  that  was  spoken.  Undine  then  said  to 
Kiihleborn :  "  I  already  see  yonder  the  end  of  the  forest.  We 

*  '*  Freiherr,"  baron.  There  is  something  peculiarly  whimsical  in  ih\a 
quiet  humour  of  '  lord  or  baron  Kiihleborn.' 


CHAP.  IX.J  UNDINE.  ft3 

have  no  further  need  of  your  assistance,  and  nothing  now  gives 
us  alarm  but  yourself  I  therefore  beseech  you  by  our  mu- 
tual love  and  good  will,  to  vanish  and  allow  us  to  proceed  in 
peace." 

Kiihleborn  seemed  to  be  transported  with  fury  at  this :  he 
darted  a  frightful  look  at  Undine,  and  grinned  fiercely  upon 
her.  She  shrieked  aloud,  and  called  her  husband  to  protect 
her.  The  knight  sprung  round  the  horse  as  quick  as  lightning, 
and,  brandishing  his  sword,  struck  at  Kiihleborn's  head.  But, 
instead  of  severing  it  from  his  body,  the  sword  merely  flashed 
through  a  torrent,  which  rushed  foam.ing  near  them  from  a 
lofty  cliff ;  and  with  a  splash,  which  much  resembled  in  sound 
a  burst  of  laughter,  the  stream  all  at  once  poured  upon  them, 
and  gave  them  a  thorough  wetting.  The  priest,  as  if  suddenly 
awaking  from  a  trance,  coolly  observed :  "  This  is  what  I 
have  been  some  time  expecting,  because  the  brook  has  descended 
from  the  steep  so  close  beside  us, — though  at  first  sight,  indeed, 
it  appeared  to  look  just  like  a  man,  and  to  possess  the  power  of 
speech." 

As  the  waterfall  came  rushing  from  its  crag,  it  distinctly  ut- 
tered these  words  in  Huldbrand's  ear :  "  Rash  knight !  valiant 
knight !  I  am  not  angry  with  you  ;  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you ; 
only  continue  to  defend  your  charming  little  wife  with  the  same 
spirit,  you  bold  knight !  you  rash  blade !" 

After  advancing  a  few  steps  further,  the  travellers  came  out 
upon  open  ground.  The  imperial  city  lay  bright  before  them ; 
and  the  evening  sun,  which  gilded  its  towers  with  gold,  kindly 
dried  their  garments  that  had  been  so  completely  Jrenched. 


54 


UNDINE. 


fCHAP.  X. 


CHAPTER  X. 

How  they  lived  in  the  city. 

The  sudden  disappearance  of  the  young  knight,  Huldbrand 
of  Ringstetten,  had  occasioned  much  remark  in  the  imperial 
city,  and  no  small  concern  among  those  of  the  people,  who,  as 
well  on  account  of  his  expertness  in  tourney  and  dance  as  of 
his  mild  and  amiable  manners,  had  become  greatly  attached  to 
him.  His  attendants  were  unwilling  to  quit  the  place  without 
their  master,  although  not  a  soul  of  them  had  been  courageous 
enough  to  follow  him  into  the  fearful  recesses  of  the  forest. 
They  remained  therefore  at  their  public  house,  idly  hoping,  as 
men  are  wont  to  do,  and,  by  the  expression  of  their  fears,  keep- 
ing the  fate  of  their  lost  lord  fresh  in  remembrance. 

Now  when  the  violent  storms  and  floods  had  been  observed, 
immediately  after  his  departure,  the  destruction  of  the  hand- 
some stranger  became  all  but  certain :  even  Bertalda  had  quite 
openly  discovered  her  sorrow,  and  detested  herself  for  having 
induced  him  to  take  that  fatal  excursion  into  the  forest.  Her 
foster-parents,  the  duke  and  dutchess,  had  meanwhile  come  to 
take  her  away,  but  Bertalda  persuaded  them  to  remain  with 
her  until  some  certain  news  of  Huldbrand  should  be  obtained, 
whether  he  were  living  or  dead.  She  endeavored  also  to  pre- 
vail upon  several  young  knights,  who  were  assiduous  in  courting 
her  favour,  to  go  in  quest  of  the  noble  adventurer  in  the  forest. 
But  she  refused  to  pledge  her  hand  as  the  reward  of  the  enter 
prise,  because  she  still  cherished,  it  might  be,  a  hope  of  being 
claimed  by  the  returning  knight;  and  no  one  would  consent, 
for  a  glove,  a  ribband,  or  even  a  kiss,  to  expose  his  life  to  bring 
back  so  very  dangerous  a  rival. 

When  Huldbrand  now  made  his  sudden  and  unexpected  ap- 


CHAP.  X.] 


UNDINE. 


55 


pearance,  his  attendants,  the  inhabitants  of  the  city,  and  almosi 
every  one  rejoiced  :  we  must  acknowledge,  indeed,  that  this 
was  not  the  case  with  Bertalda ;  for  although  it  might  be  quite 
a  welcome  event  to  others,  that  he  brought  with  him  a  wife  of 
such  exquisite  loveliness,  and  father  Heilmann  as  a  witness  of 
their  marriage,  Bertalda  could  not  but  view  the  affair  with 
grief  and  vexation.  She  had  in  truth  become  attached  to  the 
young  knight  with  her  whole  soul,  and  then  her  mourning  for  his 
absence,  or  supposed  death,  had  shown  this  more  than  she  could 
now  have  wished. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this,  she  conducted  herself  like  a 
prudent  woman  in  circumstances  of  such  delicacy,  and  lived 
on  the  most  friendly  terms  with  Undine,  whom  the  whole  city 
looked  upon  as  a  princess,  that  Huldbrand  had  rescued  in  the 
forest  from  some  evil  enchantment.  Whenever  any  one  ques- 
tioned either  herself  or  her  husband  relative  to  surmises  of  this 
nature,  they  had  wisdom  enough  to  remain  silent,  or  wit 
enough  to  evade  the  inquiries.  The  lips  of  father  Heilmann 
had  been  sealed  in  regard  to  idle  gossip  of  every  kind ;  and 
besides,  on  Huldbrand's  arrival,  he  had  immediately  returned 
to  his  cloister :  so  that  people  were  obliged  to  rest  contented 
with  their  own  wild  conjectures,  and  even  Bertalda  herself  as- 
certained nothing  more  of  the  truth  than  others. 

For  the  rest,  Undine  daily  regarded  this  fair  girl  with  in- 
creasing fondness.  "  We  must  have  been  heretofore  acquainted 
with  each  other,"  she  often  used  to  say  to  her,  "  or  else  there 
must  be  some  mysterious  connection  between  us ;  for  it  is 
mcredible  that  any  one  so  perfectly  without  cause, — I  mean 
without  some  deep  and  secret  cause, — should  be  so  fondly  at- 
tached to  another,  as  I  have  been  to  you  from  the  first  moment 
of  our  meeting." 

Even  Bertalda  could  not  deny,  that  she  felt  a  confiding  im- 
pulse, an  attraction  of  tenderness,  toward  Undine,  much  as  she 
deemed  this  fortunate  rival  the  cause  of  her  bitterest  disap- 
pointment. Under  the  influence  of  this  mutual  regard,  they 
found  means  to  persuade,  the  one  her  foster-parents,  and  the 


5G 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  X. 


other  her  husband,  to  defer  the  day  of  separation  to  a  period 
more  and  more  remote  ;  nay  more,  they  had  already  begun  to 
talk  of  a  plan  for  Bertalda's  sometime  accompanying-  Undine 
to  Castle  Ringstetten,  near  one  of  the  sources  of  the  Danube. 

Once  on  a  fine  evening,  while  they  were  promenading  the 
city  by  starlight,  they  happened  to  be  talking  over  their  scheme 
just  as  they  passed  the  high  trees,  that  bordered  the  public 
walk.  The  young  married  pair,  though  it  was  somewhat  late, 
had  called  upon  Bertalda  to  invite  her  to  share  their  enjoy- 
ment ;  and  all  three  now  proceeded  familiarly  up  and  down  be- 
neath the  dark-blue  heaven,  not  seldom  interrupted  in  their  con- 
verse by  the  admiration,  which  they  could  not  but  bestow  upon 
the  magnificent  fountain  in  the  middle  of  the  square,  and  upon 
the  wonderful  rush  and  shooting  upward  of  its  water.  All  was 
sweet  and  soothing  to  their  minds ;  among  the  shadows  of  the 
trees  stole  in  glimmerings  of  light  from  the  adjacent  houses ; 
a  low  murmur  as  of  children  at  play,  and  of  other  persons  who 
were  enjoying  their  walk,  floated  around  them ;  they  were  so 
alone,  and  yet  sharing  so  much  of  social  happiness  in  the  bright 
and  stirring  world,  that  whatever  had  appeared  diflicult  by  day, 
now  became  smooth  and  easy  of  its  own  accord,  and  the  three 
friends  could  no  longer  see  the  slightest  cause  for  hesitation  in 
regard  to  Bertalda's  taking  the  journey. 

At  that  instant,  just  as  they  were  fixing  the  day  of  their  de- 
parture, a  tall  man  approached  them  from  the  middle  of  the 
square,  bowed  respectfully  to  the  company,  and  spoke  some- 
thing in  the  young  bride's  ear.  Though  displeased  with  the 
interruption  and  its  cause,  she  walked  aside  a  few  steps  with 
the  stranger,  and  both  began  to  whisper,  as  it  seemed,  in  a 
foreign  tongue.  Huldbrand  thought  he  recognized  the  strange 
man  of  the  forest ;  and  he  gazed  upon  him  so  fixedly,  that  he 
neither  heard  nor  answered  the  astonished  inquiries  of  Bertal- 
da. All  at  once  Undine  clapped  her  hands  with  delight,  and 
turned  back  from  the  stranger,  laughing :  he,  frequently  shak- 
ing his  head,  retired  with  a  hasty  step  and  discontented  air, 
£.nd  descended  into  the  fountain.    Huldbrand  now  felt  perfectly 


CHAP.  X.] 


UNDINE. 


57 


certain,  that  his  conjecture  was  correct.  But  Bertalda  asked  : 
"  And  what,  my  dear  Undine,  did  the  master  of  the  fountain 
wish  to  say  to  you  ?" 

The  young  wife  laughed  within  herself,  and  made  answer : 
"  The  day  after  to-morrow,  my  dear  child,  when  the  anniver- 
sary of  your  name-day*  returns,  you  shall  be  informed."  And 
this  was  all  she  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  disclose.  She 
merely  asked  Bertalda  to  dinner  on  the  appointed  day,  and  re- 
quested her  to  invite  her  foster-parents;  and  soon  afterward 
they  separated. 

"  Kiihleborn  said  Huldbrand  to  his  lovely  wife  with  an 
inward  shudder,  when  they  had  taken  leave  of  Bertalda,  and 
were  now  going  home  through  the  darkening  streets. 

"  Yes,  it  was  he,"  answered  Undine,  "  and  he  would  have 
wearied  me  with  foolish  warnings  without  end.  But  in  the 
midst  of  them,  quite  contrary  to  his  intention,  he  delighted  me 
with  a  most  welcome  piece  of  news.  If  you,  my  dear  lord  and 
husband,  wish  me  to  acquaint  you  with  it  now,  you  need  only 
command  me,  and  I  will  freely,  and  from  my  heart,  tell  you  all 
without  reserve.  But  would  you  confer  upon  your  Undine  a 
very,  very  great  pleasure,  only  wait  till  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row, and  then  you  too  shall  have  your  share  of  the  surprise." 

The  knight  was  quite  willing  to  gratify  his  wife,  in  regard 
to  what  she  had  asked  with  so  beautiful  a  spirit ;  and  this  spirit 
she  discovered  yet  more,  for  while  she  was  that  night  falling 
asleep,  she  murmured  to  herself  with  a  smile :  ^'  How  she  will 
rejoice  and  be  astonished  at  what  her  master  of  the  fountain 
has  told  me, — the  dear,  happy  Bertalda !" 

*  Or  saint's  day.  A  literary  friend,  from  whose  kindness  I  have  derived 
:he  best  aid  in  revising  and  correcting  my  version,  informs  me,  that  this 
term  "  refers  to  a  German  custom  of  celebrating,  not  only  the  birth-day,  but 
also  the  name-day,  that  is,  the  day  which  in  the  almanac  bears  the  person's 
Christian  name.  The  old  almanacs  contained  a  name  for  each  day  in  the 
year,  being  either  the  name  of  a  saint,  or  some  other  remarkable  personage 
in  history." 


58 


Ui^DINE. 


[CIIAP.  XI 


CHAPTER  XL 

Festival  of  Bertalda's  name-day. 

The  company  were  sitting  at  dinner ;  Bertalda,  adorned  with 
jewels  and  flowers  without  number,  the  presents  of  her  foster- 
parents,  and  friends,  and  looking  like  some  goddess  of  Spring, 
sat  beside  Undine  and  Huldbrand  at  the  head  of  the  table. 
When  the  sumptuous  repast  was  ended,  and  the  dessert  was 
placed  before  them,  permission  was  given  that  the  doors  should 
be  left  open :  this  was  in  accordance  with  the  good  old  custom 
in  Germany,  that  the  common  people  might  see  and  rejoice  in 
the  festivity  of  their  superiors.  Among  these  spectators  the 
servants  carried  round  cake  and  wine. 

Huldbrand  and  Bertalda  waited  with  secret  impatience  for 
the  promised  explanation,  and  never,  except  when  they  could 
not  well  help  it,  moved  their  eyes  from  Undine.  But  she  still  con- 
tinued silent,  and  merely  smiled  to  herself  with  secret  and  heart- 
felt satisfaction.  All  who  were  made  acquainted  with  the  pro- 
mise she  had  given,  could  perceive  that  she  was  every  moment 
on  the  point  of  revealing  a  happy  secret ;  and  yet,  as  children 
sometimes  delay  tasting  their  choicest  dainties,  she  still  with- 
lield  the  communication,  with  a  denial  that  made  it  the  more 
desired.  Bertalda  and  Huldbrand  shared  the  same  delightful 
feeling,  while  in  anxious  hope  they  were  expecting  the  un- 
known disclosure,  which  they  were  to  receive  from  the  lips  of 
their  friend. 

At  this  moment,  several  of  the  company  pressed  Undine  to 
give  them  a  song.  This  appeared  to  her  to  be  quite  a  well- 
timed  request,  and,  immediately  ordering  her  lute  to  be  brought, 
she  sung  the  following  words : 


UNDINE. 


*'  Morning  so  bright,* 
Wild-flowers  so  gay, 
Where  high  grass  so  dewy 
Crowns  the  wavy  lake's  border. 

"On  the  meadow's  verdant  bosom, 
What  glimmers  there  so  wliite? 
Have  wreaths  of  snowy  blossoms, 
Soft-floating,  fallen  from  heaven? 

"  Ah,  see !  a  tender  infant ! — 
It  plays  with  flowers,  unwitting ; 
It  strives  to  grasp  morn's  golden  beams. — 
O  where,  sweet  stranger,  where's  your  home  / 
Afar  from  unknown  shores, 
The  waves  have  wafted  hither 
This  helpless  little  one. 

*<  Nay,  clasp  not,  tender  darling, 
With  tiny  hand  the  flowers  ; 
No  hand  returns  the  pressure. 
The  flowers  are  strange  and  mute. 
They  clothe  themselves  in  beauty, 
They  breathe  a  rich  perfume, 

«  In  reading  some  of  the  verses  of  Fouque,  wc  cannot  but  remember  the 
question  of  Hamlet  to  the  player, — '  Is  this  a  prologue,  or  the  posy  of  a 
ring  V  As  one  example,  among  many,  we  may  take  the  original  of  nis 
miniature  picture  here : 

"  Morgen  so  hell, 
Blumen  so  bunt, 
Graser  so  duftig  und  hoch 
An  wallenden  See's  Gestadc." 
These  four  liitie  lines,  descriptive  of  the  scene  of  Undine's  song,  simple  as 
they  are,  cost  me  more  trouble  in  trying  to  mould  them  into  a  fit  English 
fonn,  than  I  well  like  to  acknowledge.    I  made  several  attempts,  without 
much  success,  to  translate  them  to  my  mind.    Among  these  versions,  the 
following  had  the  merit  of  not  being  the  worst : 

*  The  morning  beams  in  glory. 
Where  wild-flowers  gaily  bloom 
Where  dewy  grass  is  waving 
The  lake's  fresh  marge  along  ;* 
but  after  all,  the  more  verbal  rendering,  as  it  now  stands,  seemed  to  be  pre- 
ferable. 


fiO  UNDINK  ,  [chap.  XI 

But  cannot  fold  around  you 
A  mother's  loving  arras  ; — 
Far,  fax  away  that  mother's  fond  embrace. 

*'  Life's  early  dawn  just  opening  faint, 
Your  eye  yet  beaming  Heaven's  own  smile. 
So  soon  your  first,  best  guardians  gone ; — 
Severe,  poor  child,  your  fate, — 
All,  all  to  you  unknown. 

**  A  noble  duke  has  cross'd  the  mead. 
And  near  you  check'd  his  steed's  career  ; 
Wonder  and  pity  touch  his  heart ; 
With  knowledge  high  and  manners  pure 
He  rears  you, — makes  his  castle  home  youi"  own. 

"  How  great,  how  infinite,  your  gain ! 
Of  all  the  land  you  bloom  the  loveliest, 
Yet,  ah !  that  first,  best  blessing. 
The  bliss  of  parents'  fondness, 
You  left  on  strands  unknown." 

Undine  let  fall  her  lute  and  paused  with  a  melancholy  smile  ; 
the  eyes  of  Bertalda's  noble  foster-parents  were  filled  with  tears. 

"  Ah  yes,  it  was  so, — such  was  the  morning  on  which  I  found 
yoUj  poor  orphan."  cried  the  duke  with  deep  emotion;  "the 
beautiful  singer  is  certainly  right ;  still 

'  That  first,  best  blessing. 
The  bliss  of  parents'  fondness,' 

it  was  beyond  our  power  to  give  you.'' — 

"  But  we  must  hear  also,  what  happened  to  the  poor  parents/' 
said  Undine,  as  she  struck  the  chords,  and  sung : 

"  Through  her  chambers  roams  the  mother, 
Searching,  searching  everywhere ; 
Seeks,  and  knows  not  what,  with  yearning, 
Childless  home  still  finding  there. 

"  Childless  home  ! — O  sound  of  anguish 
She  alone  the  anguish  knows. 
There  by  day  who  led  her  dear  one, 
There  who  rock'd  its  night  repose. 


OHAP.  XI.] 


UNDINE. 


«1 


"  Bccchen  buds  again  are  swelling.* 
Sunshine  warms  again  the  shore, 
Ah,  fond  mother,  cease  your  searching, 
Comes  the  loved  and  lost  no  more. 

"  Then  when  airs  of  eve  are  fresh'ning, 
Home  the  father  wends  his  way. 
While  with  smiles  his  woe  he's  veiling, 
Gushing  tears  his  heart  betray. 

"  Well  he  knows,  within  his  dwelling, 
Still  as  death  he'll  find  the  gloom. 
Only  hear  the  mother  moaning, — 
No  sweet  babe  to  smile  him  h9me." 

"  O  tell  me,  in  the  name  of  Heaven  tell  me,  Undine,  where 
are  my  parents  ?"  cried  the  weeping  Bertalda,  "  You  cer- 
tainly know ;  you  must  have  discovered  them,  all  wonderhil  as 
you  are,  for  otherwise  you  would  never  have  thus  torn  my 
heart.  Can  they  he  already  here  ?  May  I  helieve  it  possible  ?" 
Her  eye  glanced  rapidly  over  the  brilliant  company,  and  rested 
upon  a  lady  of  high  rank,  who  was  sitting  next  to  her  foster- 
father. 

Then,  inclining  her  head,  Undme  beckoned  toward  the  door, 
while  her  eyes  overflowed  with  the  swestest  emotion.  "  Where 
are  the  poor  parents  waiting  ?"  she  asked ;  and  the  old  fisher- 
man, diffident  and  hesitating,  advanced  with  his  wife  from  the 
crowd  of  spectators.  Swift  as  the  rush  of  hope  within  them, 
they  threw  a  look  of  inquiry,  now  at  Undine,  and  now  at  the 
beautiftsil  lady,  who  was  said  to  be  their  daughter. 

"  It  is  she  !  it  is  she  there,  before  you  1"  exclaimed  the  re- 
storer of  their  child,  her  voice  half  choked  with  rapture ;  and 
both  the  aged  parents  embraced  their  recovered  daughter,  weep- 
ing aloud  and  praising  God. 

But,  shocked  and  indignant,  Bertalda  tore  herself  from  their 
arms.    Such  a  discovery  was  too  much  for  her  proud  spirit  to 

*  For  the  epithet  '  swelling,'  I  should  prefer  to  read  '  greening,'  as 
*gninen'  is  the  more  picturesque  expression  of  the  original,  had  I  found 
any  authority  to  justify  me  in  its  use. 


63 


UNDINE. 


[chap. 


bear, — especially  at  the  moment  when  she  had  doubtless  expect- 
ed to  see  her  former  splendour  increased,  and  when  hope  was 
picturing  to  her  nothing  less  brilliant  than  a  royal  canopy  and  a 
crown.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  her  rival  had  contrived  all  this, 
ind  with  the  special  view  to  humble  her  before  Huldbrand  and 
Che  whole  world.  She  reproached  Undine  ;  she  reviled  the  old 
people ;  and  even  such  offensive  words  as  "  deceiver,  bribed  and 
perjured  imposters,"  burst  from  her  lips. 

The  aged  wife  of  the  fisherman  then  said  to  herself,  but  in 
a  very  low  voice :  "  Ah,  my  God  !  what  a  wicked  vixen  of  a 
woman  she  has  grown  i  and  yet  I  feel  in  my  heart,  that  she  is 
my  child." 

The  old  fisherman,  however,  had  meanwhile  folded  his 
hands,  and  offered  up  a  silent  prayer,  that  she  might  not  be  his 
daughter. 

Undine,  faint  and  pale  as  death,  turned  from  the  parents  to 
Bertalda,  from  Bertalda  to  the  parents ;  she  was  suddenly  cast 
down  from  all  that  heaven  of  happiness,  of  which  she  had  been 
dreaming,  and  plunged  into  an  agony  of  terror  and  disappoint- 
ment, which  she  had  never  known  even  in  dreams. 

"  Have  you  a  soul  ?  Can  you  really  have  a  soul,  Bertalda  ?" 
she  cried  again  and  again  to  her  angry  friend,  as  if  with  vehe- 
ment effort  she  would  rouse  her  from  a  sudden  delirium  or  some 
distracting  dream,  and  restore  her  to  recollection. 

But  when  Bertalda  became  every  moment  only  more  and 
more  eiuraged,  as  the  disappointed  parents  began  to  weep  aloud, 
and  the  company  with  much  warmth  of  dispute,  were  espous- 
ing opposite  sides,  she  begged  with  such  earnestness  and  dignity, 
for  the  liberty  of  speaking  in  this  her  husband's  dining-hall, 
that  all  around  her  were  in  an  instant  hushed  to  silence.  She 
then  advanced  to  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  where,  both  hum- 
bled and  haughty,  Bertalda  had  seated  herself,  and,  while  every 
eye  was  fastened  upon  her,  spoke  in  the  following  manner : 

"  My  friends,  you  appear  dissatisfied  and  disturbed ;  and  you 
are  interrupting  with  your  strife  a  festivity,  that  I  had  hoped 
would  bring  joy  both  to  you  and  myself.    Ah,  my  God !  f 


CHAP.  XI.] 


UNDINE. 


63 


knew  nothing  of  these  your  heartless  maxims,  these  your  un- 
natura'  ways  of  thinking,  and  never  so  long  as  I  livSj  I  fear, 
shall  I  become  reconciled  to  them.  The  disclosure  J  have 
made,  it  seems,  is  unwelcome  to  you  ;  but  I  am  not  to  bkme 
lor  such  a  result.  Believe  me,  little  as  you  may  imagine  thia 
to  be  the  case,  it  is  wholly  owing  to  yourselves.  One  word 
more,  therefore,  is  all  I  have  to  add,  but  this  is  one  that  must 
be  spoken : — 1  have  uttered  nothing  but  truth.  Of  the  certainty 
of  the  fact  I  give  you  the  strongest  assurance ;  no  other  proof 
can  I  or  will  I  produce  ;  but  this  I  will  affirm  in  the  presence 
of  God.  The  person  who  gave  me  this  information,  was  the 
very  same  who  decoyed  the  infant  Bertalda  into  the  water,  and 
who,  after  thus  taking  her  from  her  parents,  placed  her  on  the 
green  grass  of  the  meadow,  where  he  knew  the  duke  was  to 
pass." 

"  She  is  an  enchantress,"  cried  Bertalda,  "  a  witch,  that  has 
intercourse  with  evil  spirits.    This  she  acknowledges  herself." 

"  Never !  I  deny  it,"  replied  Undine,  while  a  whole  heaven 
of  innocence  and  truth  beamed  from  her  eyes.  "  I  am  no 
witch ;  look  upon  me,  and  say  if  I  am." 

"  Then  she  utters  both  falsehood  and  folly,"  cried  Bertalda, 
"  and  she  is  unable  to  prove  that  I  am  the  child  of  these  low 
people.  My  noble  parents,  I  entreat  you  to  take  me  from  this 
company,  and  out  of  this  city,  w^here  they  do  nothing  but  ex- 
pose me  to  shame." 

But  the  aged  duke,  a  man  of  honourable  feeling,  remained 
unmoved,  and  his  lady  remarked :  "  We  must  thoroughly  ex- 
amine into  this  matter.  God  forbid,  that  we  should  move  a  step 
from  this  hall,  before  we  do  so." 

Encouraged  by  this  kind  w^ord,  the  aged  wife  of  the  fisher- 
man drew  near,  made  a  low  obeisance  to  the  dutchess,  and  said : 
"  Exalted  and  pious  lady,  you  have  opened  my  heart.  Permit 
rne  to  tell  you,  that  if  this  evil-disposed  maiden  is  my  daughter, 
she  has  a  mark,  like  a  violet,  between  her  shoulders,  and  another 
of  the  same  kind  on  the  instep  of  her  left  foot.  If  she  w^ill  only 
consent  to  go  out  of  the  hall  with  me  " 


64 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XI 


"  I  will  not  consent  to  uncover  myself  before  the  peasant 
woman,"  interrupted  Bertalda,  haughtily  turning  her  back  upon 
her. 

"  But  before  me  you  certainly  willj"  replied  the  dutchess, 
gravely.  "  You  \\dll  follow  me  into  that  room,  young  v/oman, 
and  the  worthy  old  lady  shall  go  with  us," 

The  three  disappeared,  and  the  rest  continued  where  they 
were,  in  the  hush  of  breathless  expectation.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  females  returned,  Bertalda  pale  as  death,  and  the  dutchess 
said :  "  Justice  must  be  done  ;  I  therefore  declare,  that  our  lady 
hostess  has  spoken  the  exact  truth.  Bertalda  is  the  fisherman's 
daughter  ;  no  further  proof  is  required  ;  and  this  is  all,  of  which 
on  the  present  occasion  you  need  to^e  informed." 

The  princely  pair  went  out  with  their  adopted  daughter ;  the 
fisherman,  at  a  sign  from  the  duke,  followed  them  with  his  wife. 
The  other  guests  retired  in  silence,  or  but  half  suppressing  their 
murmurs,  while  Undine,  weeping  as  if  her  heart  would  break, 
8unk  into  the.  arms  of  Huldbrand. 


CHAP,  iii.l  UNDINE.  6S 


CHAPTER  XII. 

How  they  departed  from  the  city. 

The  lord  of  Ringstetten  would  certainly  have  been  more  grati- 
fied, had  the  events  of  this  day  been  different ;  but  even  such 
as  they  now  were,  he  could  by  no  means  look  upon  them  as 
unwelcome,  since  his  fair  wife  had  discovered  so  much  natural 
feeling,  kindness  of  spirit,  and  cordial  affection. 

"  If  I  have  given  her  a  soul,"  he  could  not  help  saying  to 
himself,  "  I  have  assuredly  given  her  a  better  one  than  my 
own  ;"  and  now  what  chiefly  occupied  his  mind,  was  to  soothe 
and  comfort  his  weeping  wife,  and  even  so  early  as  the  morrow 
to  remove  her  from  a  place,  which,  after  this  cross  accident, 
could  not  fail  to  be  distasteful  to  her.  Yet  it  is  certain,  that 
the  opinion  of  the  public  concerning  her  was  not  changed.  As 
something  extraordinary  had  long  before  been  expected  of  her, 
the  mysterious  discovery  of  Bertalda's  parentage  had  occasioned 
little  or  no  surprise ;  and  every  one  who  became  acquainted 
with  Bertalda's  story,  and  with  the  violence  of  her  behaviour 
on  that  occasion,  was  only  disgusted  and  set  against  her.  Of 
this  state  of  things,  however,  the  knight  and  his  lady  were  as 
yet  ignorant ;  besides,  whether  the  public  condemned  Bertalda 
or  herself,  the  one  view  of  the  affair  would  have  been  as  dis- 
tressing to  Undine  as  the  other ;  and  thus  they  came  to  the 
conclusion,  that  the  wisest  course  they  could  take,  was  to 
leave  behind  them  the  walls  of  the  old  city  with  all  the  speed 
in  their  power. 

With  the  earliest  beams  of  morning,  a  brilliant  carriage, 
for  Undine,  drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  inn  ;  the  horses»of 
Huldbrandand  his  attendants  stood  near  stamping  the  pave- 
ment, impatient  to  proceed.     The  knight  was  leading  hia 
6 


UNDINE. 


(CHAF.  Xii. 


beautiful  wife  from  the  door,  when  a  fisher-girl  came  up  and 
met  them  in  the  way. 

"  We  have  no  occasion  for  your  fish,"  said  Huldbrand,  ac- 
costing her,  "  we  are  this  moment  setting  out  on  a  journey." 

Upon  this  the  fisher-girl  began  to  weep  bitterly,  and  then  it 
was  that  the  young  couple  first  knew  her  to  be  Bertalda.  They 
immediately  returned  with  her  to  their  apartment,  where  she 
informed  them,  that,  owing  to  her  unfeeling  and  violent  conduct 
of  the  preceding  day,  the  duke  and  dutchess  had  been  so  dis- 
pleased with  her,  as  entirely  to  withdraw  from  her  their  protec- 
tion, though  not  before  giving  her  a  generous  portion.  The 
fisherman,  too,  had  received  a  handsome  gift,  and  had,  the 
evening  before,  set  out  with  his  wife  for  theu' peninsula. 

"  I  would  have  gone  with  them,"  she  pursued,  "  but  the  old 
fisherman,  who  is  said  to  be  my  father,"  

"  He  certainly  is  your  father,  Bertalda,"  said  Undine,  inter- 
rupting her.  "  Pray  consider  what  I  tell  you :  the  stranger, 
whom  you  took  for  the  master  of  the  water- works,  gave  me  all 
the  particulars.  He  wished  to  dissuade  me  from  taking  you 
with  me  to  Castle  Ringstetten,  and  therefore  disclosed  to  me  the 
whole  mystery." 

"  Well  then,"  continued  Bertalda,  "  my  father, — if  it  must 
needs  be  so, — my  father  said :  '  I  will  not  take  you  with  me, 
until  you  are  changed.  If  you  will  leave  your  home  here  in 
the  city,  and  venture  to  come  to  us  alone  through  the  ill-omened 
forest,  that  shall  be  a  proof  of  your  having  some  regard  for  us. 
But  come  not  to  me  as  a  lady ;  come  merely  as  a  fisher-girl.' 
• — I  -will  do,  therefore,  just  what  he  commanded  me ;  for  since 
I  am  abandoned  by  all  the  word,  I  will  live  and  die  in  solitude, 
a  poor  fi^her-girl  with  parents  equally  poor.  The  forest,  in- 
deed, appears  very  terrible  to  me.  Horrible  spectres  make  it 
thei'r  haunt,  and  I  am  so  timorous.  But  how  can  I  help  it  ? — 
I  have  only  come  here  at  this  early  hour,  to  beg  the  noble  lady 
of  Ringstetten  to  pardon  my  unbecoming  behaviour  of  yes- 
terday. Dear  madam,  I  have  the  fullest  persuasion,  that  you 
meant  to  do  me  a  kindness,  but  you  were  not  aware,  how 


CHAP.  XII. 


UNDINE. 


67 


severely  you  would  wound  and  injure  me ;  and  this  was 
the  reason,  that,  in  my  agony  and  surprise,  so  many  rash  and 
frantic  expressions  burst  from  my  lips. — Forgive  me,  ah  for- 
give me !  I  am  in  truth  so  unhappy  already.  Do  but  con- 
sider what  I  was  only  yesterday  morning,  what  I  was  even  at 
the  beginning  of  your  yesterday's  festival,  and  what  I  am  at 
the  present  moment !" — 

Her  words  now  became  inarticulate,  lost  in  a  passionate  flow 
of  tears,  while  Undine,  bitterly  weeping  with  her,  fell  upon  her 
neck.  So  powerful  was  her  emotion,  that  it  was  a  long  time 
before  she  could  utter  a  word.    But  at  length  she  said : 

"  You  shall  still  go  with  us  to  Ringstetten  ;  all  shall  remain 
just  as  we  lately  arranged  it ;  only,  in  speaking  to  me,  pray 
continue  to  use  the  familiar  and  affectionate  terms,*  that  we 
have  been  wont  to  use,  and  do  not  pain  me  with  the  sound  of 
*  madam'  and  '  noble  lady,'  any  more.  Consider,  we  were 
changed  for  each  other,  when  we  were  children  ;  even  then  we 
were  united  by  a  like  fate,  and  we  will  strengthen  this  union 
with  such  close  affection,  as  no  human  powder  shall  dissolve. 
Only  first  of  all  you  must  go  with  us  to  Ringstetten.  In  what 
manner  we  shall  share  our  sisterly  enjoyments  there,  we  will 
leave  to  be  talked  over  after  we  arrive." 

Bertalda  looked  up  to  Huldbrand  with  timid  inquiry.  He 
pitied  the  fair  girl  in  her  affliction,  took  her  hand,  and  begged 
her,  tenderly,  to  entrust  herself  to  him  and  his  wife. 

"  We  will  send  a  message  to  your  parents,"  continued  he, 
"  giving  them  the  reason  why  you  have  not  come ; — and  he 
would  have  added  much  more  about  his  worthy  friends  of  the 
peninsula,  when,  perceiving  that  Bertalda  shrunk  in  distress  at 

*  The  words  of  the  original  are,  "  nur  nenne  mich  wieder  Du,"  "  only  do 
call  me  thou  again."  The  use  of  the  personal  pronouns,  thou  and  thee,  so 
familiar  and  endearing  in  the  German  idiom,  gives  an  entirely  different  im- 
pression in  English.  In  the  conversations  of  this  tale,  examples  of  this 
peculiarity  occur  on  almost  every  page.  The  translator  has  of  course 
avoided  a  mode  of  expression,  which  most  of  his  readers  would  feel  to  bo 
BtifF,  strange,  and  unsuitable. 


68 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XII. 


the  mention  of  them,  he  refrained.  Then  taking  her  under  the 
arm,  as  they  left  the  room,  he  lifted  her  first  into  the  carriage, 
after  her  Undine,  and  was  soon  riding  blithely  beside  them  ;  so 
persevering  was  he,  too,  in  urging  forward  their  driver,  that  in 
a  short  time  they  had  left  behind  them  the  limits  of  the  city, 
and  Avith  these  a  crowd  of  painful  recollections;  and  now 
the  ladies  experienced  a  satisfaction,  more  and  more  exquisite, 
as  their  carriage  rolled  on  through  the  picturesque  scenes, 
which  their  progress  was  continually  presenting. 

After  a  journey  of  some  days,  they  arrived,  on  a  fine  even- 
ing, at  Castle  Ringstetten.  The  young  knight  being  much  en- 
gaged with  the  overseers  and  menials  of  his  establishment,  Un- 
dine and  Bertalda  were  left  alone.  Eager  for  novelty,  they 
took  a  walk  upon  the  high  rampart  of  the  fortress,  and  were 
charmed  with  the  delightful  landscape,  which  fertile  Suabia 
spread  around  them.  While  they  were  viewing  the  scene,  a 
tall  man  drew  near,  who  greeted  them  with  respectful  civility, 
and  who  seemed  to  Bertalda  much  to  resemble  the  director  of 
the  city  fountain.  Still  less  was  the  resemblance  to  be  mis- 
taken, when  Undine,  indignant  at  his  intrusion,  waved  him  off 
with  an  air  of  menace;  while  he,  shaking  his  head,  retreated 
with  rapid  strides,  as  he  had  formerly  done,  then  glided  among 
the  trees  of  a  neighbouring  grove,  and  disappeared. 

"  Do  not  be  terrified,  dear  Bertalda,"  said  Undine  ;  "  the 
hateful  master  of  the  fountain  shall  do  you  no  harm  this  time." 
And  then  she  related  to  her  the  particulars  of  her  history,  and 
who  she  was  herself, — how  Bertalda  had  been  taken  away  from 
the  people  of  the  peninsula,  and  Undine  left  in  her  place.  This 
relation,  at  first,  filled  the  young  maiden  with  amazement  and 
alarm  ;  she  imagined  her  friend  must  be  seized  with  a  sudden 
madness.  But,  from  the  consistency  of  her  story,  she  became 
more  and  more  convinced  that  all  was  true,  it  so  well  agreed 
with  former  occurrences,  and  still  more  convinced  from  that 
inward  feeling,  with  which  truth  never  fails  to  make  itself 
known  to  us.  She  could  not  but  view  it  as  an  extraordinary 
circumstance,  that  she  was  herself  now  livixiig,  as  it  were,  in 


CH.4P.  XII.] 


UNDINE. 


69 


the  midst  of  one  of  those  wild  fictions  of  romance,  which  she 
had  formerly  heard  related  for  mere  amusement.  She  gazed 
upon  Undine  with  awe,  but  could  not  avoid  feeling  a  shudder, 
which  seemed  to  separate  her  from  her  friend  ;  and  she  could 
not  but  wonder  when  the  knight,  at  their  evening  repast,  show- 
ed himself  so  kind  and  full  of  love  toward  a  being,  who  ap- 
peared, after  the  discoveries  just  made,  more  like  a  phantom  of 
the  spirit-world  than  one  of  the  human  race. 


70 


UNDINE. 


[CUAP.  XIII. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

How  they  lived  at  Castle  Ringstectcn. 

The  writer  of  this  history,  because  it  moves  his  own  heart,  and 
he  wishes  it  may  equally  move  the  hearts  of  others,  begs  you, 
dear  reader,  to  grant  him  a  single  favour.  Excuse  him,  if  he 
now  passes  over  a  considerable  period  of  time,  and  gives  you 
only  a  general  account  of  its  events.  He  is  well  aware,  that, 
perfectly  conforming  to  the  rules  of  art  and  step  by  step,  he  might 
delineate  the  process  by  which  Huldbrand's  warmth  of  at- 
tachment for  Undine  began  to  decline,  and  to  be  transferred  to 
Bertalda ;  how  Bertalda  gradually  became  more  and  more  at- 
tached, and  met  the  young  man's  glance  with  the  glow  of  love ; 
how  they  both  seemed  rather  to  fear  the  poor  wife,  as  a  being 
of  another  species,  than  to  sympathize  with  her ;  how  Undine 
wept,  and  her  tears  produced  remorse  in  the  knight's  heart,  yet 
without  awakening  his  former  tenderness,  so  that  his  treatment 
of  her  would  discover  occasional  impulses  of  kindness,  but  a 
cold  shuddering  would  soon  drive  him  from  her  side,  and  he 
would  hasten  to  the  society  of  Bertalda,  as  a  more  congenial 
being  of  his  own  race ; — all  this,  the  writer  is  aware,  he  could 
describe  with  the  minute  touches  of  truth,  and  perhaps  this  is 
the  course  that  he  ought  to  pursue.  But  his  heart  would  feel 
the  task  to  be  too  melancholy ;  for,  having  suffered  calamities 
of  this  nature,  he  is  impressed  with  terror  even  at  the  remem- 
brance of  their  shadows. 

You  have  probably  experienced  a  similar  feeling  yourself, 
my  dear  reader,  for  such  is  the  inevitable  allotment  of  mortal 
man.  Happy  are  you,  if  you  have  rather  endured  than  in- 
flicted this  misery,  since,  in  matters  of  this  kind,  more  blessed 
IS  he  that  receives  than  he  that  gives.    For  when  yon  have 


CHAP.  XIII.] 


UNDINE. 


71 


been  the  suffering  party,  and  such  remembrances  come  over 
the  mind,  only  a  soft  pcnsiveness  steals  into  the  soul,  and  per- 
haps a  tender  tear  trickles  down  your  cheek,  while  you  regret 
the  fading  of  the  flowers,  in  which  you  once  took  a  delight 
so  exquisite.  But  of  this  no  more ;  we  would  not  linger  over 
the  evil,  and  pierce  our  hearts  with  pangs  a  thousand-fold  re- 
peated, but  just  briefly  hint  the  course  of  events,  as  I  said 
before. 

Poor  Undine  was  extremely  distressed,  and  the  other  two 
were  far  from  being  happy ;  Bertalda  in  particular,  whenever 
she  was  in  the  slightest  degree  opposed  in  her  wishes,  attributed 
the  cause  to  the  jealousy  and  oppression  of  the  injured  wife. 
In  consequence  of  this  suspicious  temper,  she  was  daily  in  the 
habit  of  discovering  a  haughty  and  imperious  demeanour,  to 
which  Undine  submitted  in  sad  and  painful  self-denial ;  and, 
such  was  the  blind  delusion  of  Huldbrand,  he  usually  supported 
the  impropriety  in  the  most  decisive  terms. 

What  disturbed  the  inmates  of  the  castle  still  more,  was  the 
endless  variety  of  wonderful  apparitions,  which  assailed  Huld- 
brand and  Bertalda  in  the  vaulted  passages  of  the  building,  and 
of  which  nothing  had  ever  been  heard  before  within  the  me- 
mory of  man.  The  tall  white  man,  in  whom  Huldbrand  but 
too  well  recognized  Undine's  uncle  Kiihleborn,  and  Bertalda 
the  spectral  master  of  the  water-works,  often  passed  before  them 
with  threatening  aspect  and  gestures ;  more  especially,  how- 
ever, before  Bertalda,  so  that  she  had  already  several  times 
fainted  or  fallen  ill  through  terror,  and  had  in  consequence  fre- 
quently thought  of  quitting  the  castle.  But  partly  owing  to 
her  excessive  fondness  for  Huldbrand,  as  well  as  to  a  reliance 
on  what  she  termed  her  innocence,  since  no  declaration  of  mu- 
tual attachment  had  ever  been  distinctly  made,  and  partly  also 
because  she  knew  not  whither  to  direct  her  steps,  she  lingered 
where  she  was. 

The  old  fisherman,  on  receiving  the  message  from  the  lord 
of  Ringstetten,  that  Bertalda  was  his  guest,  returned  answer  in 
some  lines  almost  too  illegible  to  be  deciphered,  but  still  the 


72 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XllL 


best  his  advanced  life  and  long  disuse  of  writing  permitted  him 
to  form. 

"  I  have  now  become,"  he  wrote,  "  a  poor  old  widower,  for 
my  beloved  and  faithful  wife  is  dead.  But  lonely  as  I  now  sit 
in  my  cottage,  I  prefer  Bertalda's  remaining  where  she  is,  to 
her  living  with  me.  Only  let  her  do  nothing  to  hurt  my  dear 
Undine, — otherwise  she  will  have  my  curse." 

The  last  words  of  this  letter  Bertalda  flung  to  the  winds ; 
but  the  permission  to  remain  from  home,  which  her  father  had 
granted  her,  she  remembered  and  clung  to,  just  as  we  are  all 
of  us  wont  to  do  in  like  circumstances. 

One  day,  a  few  moments  after  Huldbrand  had  ridden  out, 
Undine  called  together  the  domestics  of  the  family,  and  ordered 
them  to  bring  a  large  stone,  and  carefully  to  cover  with  it  a 
magnificent  fountain,  that  was  situated  in  the  middle  of  the 
castle  court.  The  servants  ventured  to  hint  as  an  objection, 
that  it  would  oblige  them  to  bring  their  water  from  the  valley 
below,  which  was  at  an  inconvenient  distance.  Undine  smiled 
with  an  expression  of  melancholy. 

"  I  am  sorry,  dear  children,"  replied  she,  "  to  increase  your 
labour;  I  would  rather  bring  up  the  water-vessels  myself; 
but  this  fountain  must  indeed  be  closed.  Believe  me  when  I 
say,  that  it  must  be  done,  and  that  only  by  doing  it  can  we 
avoid  a  greater  evil." 

The  domestics  were  all  rejoiced  to  gratify  their  gentle  mis- 
tress ;  and  making  no  further  inquiry,  they  seized  the  enor- 
mous stone.  While  they  were  raising  it  in  their  hands,  and 
were  now  on  the  point  of  adjusting  it  over  the  fountain,  Bertal- 
da came  running  to  the  place,  and  cried  with  an  air  of  com- 
mand, that  they  must  stop ;  that  the  water  she  used,  so  im- 
proving to  her  complexion,  she  was  wont  to  have  brought 
from  this  fountain,  and  that  she  would  by  no  means  allow  it  to 
be  closed. 

This  time,  however,  while  Undine  showed  her  usual  gentle- 
ness, she  showed  more  than  her  usual  resolution,  and  remain- 
ed firm  to  her  purpose  :  she  said  it  belonged  to  her,  as  mistress 


CHAP.  XIIl  ] 


UNDINE. 


73 


of  the  castle^  to  direct  the  regulations  of  the  household  accord- 
ing to  her  own  best  judgment,  and  that  she  was  accountable  in 
this  to  no  one  but  her  lord  and  husband. 

"See,  O  pray,  see!"  exclaimed  the  dissatisfied  and  indignant 
Bertalda,  "how  the  beautiful  water  is  curling  and  curving, 
v/inding  and  waving  there,  as  if  disturbed  at  being  shut  out 
from  the  bright  sunshine,  and  from  the  cheerful  view  of  the 
human  countenance,  for  whose  mirror  it  was  created." 

In  truth,  the  water  (  f  the  fountain  was  agitated,  ar^d  foaming, 
and  nissing  in  a  surprising  manner ;  it  seemed  as  if  there  were 
something  within,  possessing  life  and  will,  that  was  struggling 
to  free  itself  from  confinement.  But  Undine  only  the  more 
earnestly  urged  on  the  accomplishment  of  her  commands.  This 
earnestness  was  scarcely  required.  The  servants  of  the  castle 
were  as  happy  in  obeying  their  sweet-tempered  lady,  as  in  op- 
posing the  haughty  spirit  of  Bertalda ;  and  with  whatever  rude- 
ness the  latter  might  scold  and  threaten,  still  the  stone  was  in  a 
few  minutes  lying  firm  over  the  opening  of  the  fountain,  Un 
dine  leaned  thoughtfully  over  it,  and  wrote  with  her  beautiful 
fingers  on  the  flat  surface.  She  must,  however,  have  had  some- 
thing very  acrid  and  corrosive  in  her  hand ;  for  when  she 
retired,  and  the  domestics  went  up  to  examine  the  stone,  they 
discovered  various  strange  characters  upon  it,  which  none  of 
them  had  seen  there  before. 

When  the  knight  returned  home  toward  evening,  Bertalda 
received  him  with  tears  and  complaints  of  Undine's  conduct. 
He  threw  a  severe  look  at  his  poor  wife,  and  she  cast  down  her 
eyes  in  distress.  Still  she  spoke  with  great  firmness :  "  My  lord 
and  husband,  you  never  reprove  even  a  bond-slave,  before  you 
hear  his  defence, — how  much  less  then  your  wedded  wife  !" 

"  Speak,  what  moved  you  to  this  singular  conduct  ?"  said  the 
knight,  with  a  gloomy  countenance. 

"  I  could  wish  to  tell  you,  when  we  are  entirely  alone,"  said 
Undine,  with  a  sigh. 

"  You  can  tell  me  equally  well  in  the  presence  of  Bertalda," 
he  replied. 


74 


UNDINE. 


[chap,  xih 


"  Yes,  if  you  command  me,"  said  Undine,  "  but  do  not  com- 
mand me.    Pray,  pray,  do  not !" 

She  looked  so  humble,  affectionate,  and  obedient,  that  the 
heart  of  the  knight  was  touched  and  softened,  as  if  he  felt  the 
influence  of  a  ray  from  better  times.  He  kindly  took  her  arm 
within  his,  and  led  her  to  his  apartment,  where  she  spoke  as 
follows : 

"  You  already  know  something,  my  beloved  krd,  of  Kiihle- 
born,  my  evil-disposed  uncle,  and  have  often  felt  displeasure  at 
meeting  him  in  the  passages  of  this  castle.  Several  times  has 
he  terrified  Bertalda  even  to  swooning.  He  does  this,  because 
he  possesses  no  soul,  being  a  mere  elementary  mirror  of  the 
outward  world,  while  of  the  world  within  he  can  give  no  reflec- 
tion. Then,  too,  he  sometimes  observes,  that  you  are  displensed 
with  me,  that  in  my  childish  weakness  1  weep  at  this,  and  that 
Bertalda,  it  may  be,  is  laughing  at  the  same  moment.  Hence 
it  is,  that  he  conceives  every  sort  of  wrong  and  unkindness  to 
exist,  and  in  various  ways  mixes  with  our  circle  unbidden. 
What  do  I  gain  by  reproving  him  ?  by  showing  displeasure, 
and  sending  him  away  ?  He  does  not  believe  a  word  I  say. 
His  poor  imperfect  nature  affords  him  no  conception,  that  the 
pains  and  pleasures  of  love  have  so  mysterious  a  resemblance 
and  are  so  intimately  connected,  that  no  power  on  earth  is  able 
to  separate  them.  Even  in  the  midst  of  tears,  a  smile  is  dawn- 
ing on  the  cheek,  and  smiles  call  forth  tears  from  their  secret 
recesses." 

She  looked  up  at  Huldbrand,  smiling  and  weeping;  and  he 
again  felt  within  his  heart  all  the  magic  of  his  former  love. 
rShe  perceived  it,  and  pressed  him  more  tenderly  to  her,  while 
with  tears  of  joy  she  went  on  thus : 

"When  the  disturber  of  our  peace  would  not  be  dismissed 
with  words,  I  was  obliged  to  shut  the  door  upon  him ;  and  the 
only  entrance  by  which  he  has  access  to  us,  is  that  fountain. 
His  connexion  with  the  other  water-spirits,  here  in  this  region,  is 
cut  off  by  the  valleys  that  border  upon  us,  and  his  kingdom  first 
commences  further  off  on  the  Danube,  in  whose  tributary  streams 


CHAP.  XIII.] 


UNDINE. 


some  of  his  good  friends  have  their  abode.  For  this  reason  i 
caused  the  stone  to  be  placed  over  the  opening-  of  the  fountain, 
and  inscribed  characters  upon  it,  which  baffle  all  the  efforts 
of  my  suspicious  and  passionate  uncle,  so  that  he  now  has 
no  power  of  intruding  either  upon  you,  or  me,  or  Bertalda. 
Human  beings,  it  is  true,  notwithstanding  the  characters  I  have 
inscribed  there,  are  able  to  raise  the  stone  without  any  extra- 
ordinary trouble ;  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  them.  If  you 
choose,  therefore,  remove  it  according  to  Bertalda's  desire,  but 
she  assuredly  knows  not  what  she  asks.  The  rude  Kiihleborn 
looks  with  peculiar  ill-will  upon  her ;  and  should  much  come 
to  pass  that  he  has  imperfectly  predicted  to  me,  an\w^hich  may 
well  happen  without  your  meaning  any  evil, — I  fear,  I  fear, 
my  dear  husband,  that  you  yourself  would  be  exposed  to  peril." 

Huldbrand  felt  the  generosity  of  his  amiable  wife  in  the  depth 
of  his  heart,  since  she  had  been  so  active  in  confining  her  for- 
midable defender,  and  even  at  the  very  moment  she  was  re- 
proached for  it  by  Bertalda.  Influenced  by  this  feeling,  he 
pressed  her  in  his  arms  with  the  tenderest  affection,  and  said 
with  emotion:  "  The  stone  shall  remain  unmoved;  all  remains 
and  ever  skull  remain,  just  as  you  choose  to  have  it,  my  dear, 
very  dear  Undine  !" 

At  these  long  withheld  expressions  of  tenderness,  she  returned 
hi?  caresses  with  lowly  delight,  and  at  length  said :  "  My  dearest 
husband,  since  you  are  so  very  kind  and  indulgent  to-day,  may  I 
venture  to  ask  a  favour  of  you  ?  Pray  observe,  it  is  with  you  as 
with  Summer.  Even  amid  its  highest  splendour.  Summer  puts 
on  the  flaming  and  thundering  crown  of  glorious  tempests,  in 
which  it  strongly  resembles  a  king  and  god  on  earth.  You  too 
are  sometimes  temble  in  your  rebukes ;  your  eyes  flash  light- 
ning, while  thunder  resounds  in  your  voice  ;  and  although  this 
may  be  quite  becoming  to  you,  I  in  my  folly  cannot  but  some- 
times weep  at  it.  But  never,  I  entreat  you,  behave  thus  toward 
me  on  a  river,  or  even  when  we  are  near  a  piece  of  water.  For 
if  you  should,  pray  consider  what  the  consequences  will  be : 
my  relations  would  acquire  a  right  to  exercise  authoiity  over 


76 


UNDINE. 


[CHAl*.  XIP 


me.    They  would  tear  me  from  you  in  their  fury  with  inexoi- 

able  force,  because  they  would  conceive  that  one  of  their  race 
was  injured;  and  I  should  be  compelled,  as  long  as  I  lived,  to 
dwell  below  in  the  crystal  palaces,  and  never  dare  ascend  to 
you  again  ;  or  should  they  send  me  up  to  you, — 0  God !  that 
would  be  infinitely  more  deplorable  still.  No,  no,  my  beloved 
husband,  let  it  not  come  to  that,  if  your  poor  Undine  is  dear  to 
you." 

He  solemnly  promised  to  do  as  she  desired,  and,  inexpressibly 
happy  and  full  of  affection,  the  married  pair  returned  from  the 
apartment.  At  this  very  moment,  Bertalda  came  with  some 
work-people,  whom  she  had  meanwhile  ordered  to  attend  her, 
and  said  with  a  fretful  air,  which  she  had  assumed  of  late  : — 

"  Well,  now  the  secret  consultation  is  at  an  end,  it  is  to  be 
hoped  the  stone  may  come  down.  Go  out,  workmen,  and  exe- 
cute your  business." 

The  knight,  however,  highly  resenting  her  impertinence,  said 
in  brief  and  very  decisive  terms :  "  The  stone  remains  where 
it  is."  He  reproved  Bertalda  also  for  the  vehemence  that  she 
had  shown  toward  his  wife.  Whereupon  the  workmen,  smiling 
with  secret  satisfaction,  withdrew ;  while  Bertalda,  pale  with 
rage,  hurried  away  to  her  room. 

When  the  hour  of  supper  came,  Bertalda  was  waited  for  in 
vain.  They  sent  for  her ;  but  the  domestic  found  her  apart- 
ments empty,  and  brought  back  with  him  only  a  sealed  billet, 
addressed  to  the  knight.  Trembling  with  alarm,  he  tore  it 
open,  and  read : 

"  I  feel  with  shame,  that  I  am  only  the  daughter  of  a  poor 
fisherman.  That  I  for  one  moment  forgot  this,  I  wnW  make 
expiation  in  the  miserable  hut  of  my  parents.  Farewell  to  you 
and  your  beautiful  wife  !" 

Undine  was  troubled  at  heart.  Most  earnestly  she  entreated 
Huldbrand  to  hasten  after  their  friend,  who  had  flown,  and 
bring  her  back  with  him.  Alas !  she  had  no  occasion  to  urge 
him.  His  passion  for  Bertalda  again  burst  forth  with  vehe- 
mence.   He  hurried  round  the  castle,  inquiring  whether  anv 


CHAP.  XIII.] 


UNDINE. 


77 


one  had  seen  which  way  the  fair  fugitive  had  gone.  He  could 
gain  no  information,  and  was  already  in  the  court  on  his  horse, 
determining  to  take  at  a  venture  the  road  by  which  he  had 
conducted  Bertalda  to  the  castle  ;  when  there  appeared  a  shield- 
boy,  who  assured  him,  that  he  had  met  the  lady  on  the  path  to 
the  Black  Valley.  Swift  as  an  arrow,  the  knight  sprung  through 
the  gate  in  the  direction  pointed  out,  without  hearing  Undine's 
voice  of  agony,  as  she  cried  after  him  from  the  window : 

"  To  the  Black  Valley  ?  O  not  there  !  Huldbrand,  not  there ! 
or  if  you  will  go,  for  Heaven's  sake  take  me  with  you !" 

But  when  she  perceived  that  all  her  calling  was  of  no  avail, 
she  ordered  her  white  palfrey  to  be  instantly  saddled,  and  fol- 
lowed the  knight  without  permitting  a  single  servant  to  ac- 
company her. 


78 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XIV. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

How  Bertalda  returned  with  the  Knight. 

The  Black  Valley  lies  secluded  far  among  the  mountains. 
What  its  present  name  may  be,  I  am  unable  to  say.  At  the 
time  of  which  I  am  speaking,  the  country-people  gave  it  this 
appellation  from  the  deep  obscurity  produced  by  the  shadows 
of  lofty  trees,  more  especially  by  a  crowded  gi'owth  of  firs,  that 
covered  this  region  of  moor-land.  Even  the  brook,  which  gushed 
out  among  the  crags,  and  wound  its  way  down  a  ravine  into  the 
valley,  assumed  there  the  same  dark  hue,  and  showed  nothing 
of  that  cheerful  aspect  which  streams  are  wont  to  wear,  that 
have  the  blue  sky  immediately  over  them. 

It  was  now  the  dusk  of  evening,  and  the  view  between  the 
heights  had  becom.e  extremely  wild  and  gloomy.  The  knight, 
in  great  anxiety,  skirted  the  border  of  the  brook ;  he  was  at 
one  time  fearful,  that  by  delay  he  should  allow  the  fugitive  to 
advance  too  far  before  him ;  and  then  again,  in  his  too  eager 
rapidity,  he  was  afraid  he  might  somewhere  overlook  and  pass 
by  her,  should  she  be  desirous  of  concealing  herself  from  his 
search.  He  had  in  the  mean  time  penetrated  pretty  far  into 
the  valley,  and  might  hope  soon  to  overtake  the  maiden,  pro- 
vided he  were  pursuing  the  right  track.  The  fear,  indeed, 
that  he  might  not  as  yet  have  gained  this  track,  made  his  heart 
beat  with  more  and  more  of  anxiety.  In  the  stormy  night,  which 
was  now  impending,  and  which  always  hovered  more  fearfully 
over  this  valley,  where  would  the  delicate  Bertalda  shelter  her- 
self, should  he  fail  to  find  her  ?  At  last,  while  these  thoughts 
were  darting  across  his  mind,  he  saw  something  white  glimmer 
through  the  branches  on  the  ascent  of  the  mountain.  He  felt 
quite  certain,  that  the  object  he  discerned  was  Bertalda's  robe, 


cnA?.  XIV.] 


UNDINE. 


79 


and  he  directed  his  course  toward  it.  But  his  horse  refused  to  go 
ibrward ;  he  reared  with  a  fury  so  uncontrollable,  and  his  mastei 
ivas  so  unwilling  to  lose  a  moment,  that  (especially  as  he  saw 
the  thickets  were  altogether  impassable  on  horseback)  he  dis- 
mounted, and,  having  fastened  his  snorting  steed  to  in  elm, 
worked  his  way  with  caution  through  the  matted  underwood. 
The  branches,  moistened  by  the  cold  drops  of  the  evening  dew, 
keenly  smote  his  forehead  and  cheeks ;  thunder  mutte:  ed  re- 
motely from  the  further  side  of  the  mountains  ;  &>id  every 
thing  put  on  so  strange  and  mystic  an  appearance,  that  he  be- 
gan to  feel  a  dread  of  the  white  figure,  which  now  lay  only  a 
short  distance  from  him  upon  the  ground.  Still  he  could  see 
with  perfect  clearness,  that  it  was  a  female,  either  asleep  or  in 
a  swoon,  and  dressed  in  long  white  garments,  such  as  Bertalda 
had  worn  the  past  day.  Approaching  quite  near  to  her,  he 
made  a  rustling  with  the  branches  and  a  ringing  with  his  sword, 
— but  she  did  not  move. 

"  Bertalda  !"  he  cried ;  at  first  low,  then  louder  and  louder ; 
still  she  heard  him  not.  At  last,  when  he  uttered  the  dear  name 
with  an  energy  yet  more  powerful,  a  hollow  echo,  from  the 
mountain-summits  around  the  valley,  returned  the  deadened 
sound,  "  Bertalda  !"  Still  the  sleeper  continued  insensible. 
He  stooped  low,  with  a  view  to  examine  her  countenance,  but 
the  duskiness  of  the  valley  and  the  obscurity  of  twilight  would 
not  allow  him  to  distinguish  her  features.  While  with  painful 
uncertainty  he  was  bending  over  her,  a  flash  of  lightning  sud- 
denly shot  across  the  valley.  By  this  stream  of  light,  he  saw  a 
frightfully  distorted  visage  close  to  his  own,  and  a  hoarse  voice 
struck  him  with  startling  abruptness  :  "  You  enamoured  shep- 
herd, give  me  a  kiss !" 

Huldbrand  sprang  upon  his  feet  with  a  cry  of  horror,  and  the 
hideous  figure  rose  with  him. 

"  Home !"  it  cried  with  a  deep  murmur ;  "  the  fiends  are 
abroad.  Home  !  or  I  have  you !"  And  it  stret^.hed  toward 
him  its  long  white  arms. 

"  ]V?a!icious  Kiihleborn,"  exclaimed  the  knight  witn  restored 


80 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XIV. 


energy,  "  if  Kuhleborn  you  are,  what  business  have  you  here ! 
— what's  your  will,  you  goblin! — There,  take  your  kiss!" — 
And  in  fury  he  flashed  his  sword  at  the  form.  But  the  form 
vanished  like  vapour ;  and  a  rush  of  water,  giving  the  knight 
'as  good  a  drenching  as  wetting  him  to  the  skin  could  make  it, 
left  him  in  no  doubt  with  what  foe  he  had  been  engaged. 

*•  He  wishes  to  frighten  me  back  from  my  pursuit  of  Bertal- 
da,"  said  he  to  himself;  "he  imagines,  that  I  shall  be  terrified 
at  his  senseless  enchantments,  and  resign  the  poor  distressed 
girl  to  his  power,  so  that  he  can  Avreak  his  vengeance  upon  her 
at  will.  But,  impotent  spirit  of  the  flood !  he  shall  find  himself 
mistaken.  What  the  heart  of  man  can  do,  when  it  exerts  the 
full  force  of  its  will,  the  strong  energy  of  its  noblest  powers,  of 
this  the  feeble  enchanter  has  no  comprehension." 

He  felt  the  truth  of  his  words,  and  that,  in  thus  giving  ut- 
terance to  his  thoughts,  he  had  inspired  his  heart  with  fresh 
courage.  Fortune  too  appeared  to  favour  him ;  for,  before 
reaching  his  fastened  steed,  he  distinctly  heard  the  voice  of 
Bertalda,  where  she  was  now  weeping  and  now  moaning  not 
far  before  him,  amid  the  roar  of  the  thunder  and  the  tempest, 
which  every  moment  increased.  He  flew  swiftly  toward  the 
sound,  and  found  the  trembling  maiden,  just  as  she  was  at- 
tempting to  climb  the  steep,  and  striving,  to  the  extent  of  her 
power,  to  escape  from  the  dreadful  darkness  of  this  valley. 
He  stepped  before  her,  while  he  spoke  in  tones  of  the  most 
soothing  tenderness ;  and  bold  and  proud  as  her  resolution  had 
so  lately  been,  she  now  felt  nothing  but  the  liveliest  joy,  that 
the  man,  whom  she  so  passionately  loved,  would  rescue  her,  from 
this  frightful  solitude,  and  extending  to  her  his  arms  of  welcome^ 
would  still  cast  a  brightness  over  her  existence  in  their  re- 
union at  the  castle.  She  followed  almost  unresisting,  but  so 
spent  with  fatigue,  that  the  knight  w^as  glad  to  support  her  to 
his  horse,  which  he  now  hastily  unfastened  from  the  elm :  his 
intention  was  to  lift  the  fair  wanderer  upon  him,  and  then  to 
lead  him  carefully  by  the  reins  through  the  uncertain  shades 
of  this  lowland  tract. 


CHAP.  XIV.]  UNDINE.  81 

But,  owing  to  the  mad  appearance  of  Kiihleborn,  the  horse 
had  become  altogether  unmanageable.  Rearing  and  wildly 
snorting  as  he  was,  the  knight  must  have  used  uncommon  effort 
to  mount  the  beast  himself;  to  place  the  trembling  Bertalda 
upon  him  was  impossible.  They  were  compelled,  therefore,  to 
return  home  on  foot.  While  with  one  hand  the  knight  drew 
the  steed  after  him  by  the  bridle,  he  supported  the  tottering  Ber- 
talda with  the  other.  She  exerted  all  the  strength  she  had  re- 
maining, in  order  to  escape  from  this  vale  of  terrors  as  speed- 
ily as  possible;  but  weariness  weighed  her  down  like  lead,  and 
a  universal  trembling  seized  her  limbs,  partly  in  consequence 
of  what  she  had  suffered  from  the  extreme  harassment  with 
which  Kiihleborn  had  pursued  her,  and  in  part  from  her  con- 
tinual fear,  arising  from  the  roar  of  the  tempest  and  thunder 
amid  the  mountain  forest. 

At  last  she  slid  from  the  arm  of  her  conductor  ;  and,  sinking 
upon  the  moss,  she  said :  "  I  can  no  more ;  let  me  lie  here,  my 
noble  lord.  I  suffer  the  punishment  due  to  my  folly,  and  nothing 
can  save  me  now ;  I  must  perish  here  through  faintness  and 
dismay." 

"  Never,  my  sweet  friend,  will  I  leave  you,"  cried  Huld- 
brand,  vainly  trying  to  restrain  the  furious  animal  he  was  lead- 
ing ;  for  the  horse  was  all  in  a  foam,  and  began  to.  chafe  more 
ungovernably  than  before,  till  the  knight  was  glad  merely  to 
keep  him  at  such  a  distance  from  the  exhausted  maiden,  as 
would  secure  her  from  still  greater  fear  and  alarm.  But  hardly 
had  he  withdrawn  five  steps  with  the  frantic  steed,  when  she 
began  to  call  after  him  in  the  most  sorrow^ful  accents,  fearful 
that  he  would  actually  leave  her  in  this  horrible  wilderness. 
He  was  wholly  at  a  loss  what  course  to  take.  Gladly  would 
he  have  given  the  •enraged  beast  his  liberty, — he  would  have 
let  him  rush  away  amid  the  night,  and  exhaust  his  fury, — ^had 
he  not  shuddered  at  the  thought,  that  in  this  narrow  defile  his 
iron-shod  hoofs  might  come  trampling  and  thundering  over  the 
very  spot  where  Bertalda  lay. 

While  he  was  in  this  extreme  peril  and  enibarrassment,  a  feel' 
7 


62 


UNDINE. 


[OIUP.  XTV 


ing  of  delight,  not  to  be  expressed,  shot  through  him,  when  he 
heard  the  rumbling  wheels  of  a  wagon,  as  it  came  slowly  do 
scending  the  stony  slope  behind  them.  He  called  out  for  help: 
answer  was  returned  in  the  deep  voice  of  a  man,  bidding  them 
have  patience,  but  promising  assistance;  and  two  horses  cf 
grayish  white  soon  after  shone  through  the  bushes,  and  near 
them  their  driver  in  the  white  frock  of  a  carter  ;  and  next  ap- 
peared a  great  sheet  of  white  linen,  with  w^hich  the  goods  he 
Beemed  to  be  conveying,  were  covered.  The  whitish  grays, 
in  obedience  to  a  shout  from  their  master,  stood  still.  He  came 
up  to  the  knight,  and  aided  him  in  checking  the  fury  of  the 
foaming  charger. 

"  I  know  well  enough,"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  matter  with 
the  brute.  The  first  time  I  travelled  this  way,  my  horses  were 
just  as  wilful  and  headstrong  as  yours.  The  reason  is,  there 
is  a  water-spirit  haunts  this  valley,  and  a  wicked  wight  they 
say  he  is,  who  takes  delight  in  mischief  and  witcheries  of  this 
sort.  But  I  have  learned  a  charm ;  and  if  you  will  let  me 
whisper  it  in  your  horse's  ear,  he  will  stand  just  as  quiet  as  my 
silver  grays  there." 

"  Try  your  luck,  then,  and  help  us  as  quick  as  possible !" 
said  the  impatient  knight. 

Upon  this  the  wagoner  drew  down  the  head  of  the  rearing 
courser  close  to  his  own,  and  spoke  some  half-dozen  words  in 
his  ear.  The  animal  instantly  stood  still  and  subdued ;  only 
his  quick  panting  and  smoking  sweat  showed  his  recent  vio- 
lence. 

Huldbrand  had  little  time  to  inquire,  by  what  means  this 
had  been  effected.  He  agreed  with  the  man,  that  he  should 
take  Bertalda  in  his  wagon,  where,  as  he  said,  a  quantity  of  soft 
cotton  was  stowed,  and  he  might  in  this » way  convey  her  to 
Castle  Ringstetten  ;  the  knight  could  accompany  them  on 
horseback.  But  the  horse  appeared  to  be  too  much  exhausted 
to  carry  his  master  so  far.  Seeing  this,  the  man  ad\dsed  him 
to  mount  the  wagon  with  Bertald''.  The  horse  could  be  tied  to 
it  btliiud. 


CHAP.  XIV.] 


UNDINE. 


83 


"  It  is  down  hill,"  said  he,  "  and  the  load  for  my  grays  will 
therefore  be  light." 

The  knight  accepted  his  offer,  and  entered  the  wagon  with 
Btrtalda ;  the  horse  followed  quietly  after,  while  the  wagoner, 
sturdy  and  attentive,  walked  beside  them. 

Amid  the  silence  and  deepening  obscurity  of  the  night,  the 
tempest  became  more  and  more  remote  and  hushed ;  in  the  com- 
fortable feeling  of  their  security  and  their  commodious  passage,  a 
confidential  conversation  arose  between  Huldbrand  and  Bertal- 
da.  He  reproved  her  in  the  most  gentle  and  affectionate  terms 
for  her  resentful  flight ;  she  excused  herself  with  humility  and 
feeling ;  and  from  every  tone  of  her  voice  it  was  evident, — just 
as  a  lamp  guides  a  lover  amid  the  secrecy  of  night  to  his  wait- 
ing mistress, — that  she  still  cherished  her  former  affection  for 
him.  The  knight  felt  the  se?ise  of  what  she  said  far  more  than 
the  words  themselves,  and  he  answered  simply  to  this  sense, — 
to  the  feeling  and  not  the  confession  of.  love. 

In  the  midst  of  this  interchange  of  murmured  feelings,  the 
wagoner  suddenly  shouted  with  a  startling  voice :  "  Up,  my 
grays,  up  with  your  feet !  Hey,  my  hearts,  now  together,  show 
your  spirit !    Do  it  handsomely !  remember  who  you  are  !" 

The  knight  bent  over  the  side  of  the  wagon,  and  saw  that  the 
horses  had  dashed  into  the  midst  of  a  foaming  stream,  and  v/ere, 
indeed,  almost  swimming,  while  the  wheels  of  the  wagon  were 
rushing  round  and  flashing  like  mill-wheels,  and  the  teamster 
had  got  on  before  to  avoid  the  swell  of  the  flood. 

"  What  sort  of  a  road  is  this  ?  It  leads  into  the  middle  of  the 
stream  !"  cried  Huldbrand  to  his  guide. 

"  Not  at  all.  Sir,"  returned  he  with  a  laugh,  "  it  is  just  the 
contrary.  The  stream  is  running  in  the  middle  of  our  road. 
Only  look  about  you,  and  see  how  all  is  overflowed." 

The  whole  valley,  in  fact,  was  covered  and  in  comirotion,  as 
the  waters,  suddenly  raised  and  visibly  rising,  swopt  over  it. 

"  It  is  Kiihleborn,  that  devil  of  a  water-spirit,  who  wishes  to 
drown  us !"  exclaimed  the  knight.  "  Have  you  nc  charm  of 
[irotection  against  him,  companion  ?" 


B4 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  xit. 


"  Charm !  to  be  sure  I  have  one,"  ansrwered  the  wagonei^ 
^  but  I  cannot  and  must  not  make  use  of  it,  before  you  know 
who  I  am." 

"  Is  this  a  time  for  riddles  ?"  cried  the  knight.  "  The  flood 
is  every  moment  rising  higher  and  higher,  and  what  does  it 
concern  Ttie  to  know  who  ijoib  are  ?" 

But  mayhap  it  does  concern  you  though,"  said  the  guide, 

"  for  I  AM  KUHLEBORN." 

Thus  speaking,  he  thrust  his  face  into  the  wagon,  and  laughed 
with  every  feature  distorted  ;  but  the  wagon  remained  a  wagon 
no  longer,  the  grayish  w^hite  horses  were  horses  no  longer ;  all 
was  transformed  to  foam, — all  sunk  into  the  waves  that  rushed 
and  hissed  around  them, — while  the  wagoner  himself,  rising  in 
the  form  of  a  gigantic  surge,  dragged  the  vainly  struggling 
courser  under  the  waters,  then  rose  again  huge  as  a  liquid 
tower,  burst  over  the  heads  of  the  floating  pair,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  burying  them  iiTecoverably  beneath  it. 

At  that  instant,  the  soft  voice  of  Undine  was  heard  through 
the  uproar  ;  the  moon  emerged  through  the  clouds,  and  by  its 
light  Undine  became  visible  on  the  heights  above  the  valley. 
She  rebuked,  she  threatened  the  flood  below  her :  the  menacing 
and  tower-like  billow  vanished  muttering  and  murmuring ;  the 
waters  gently  flowed  away  under  the  beams  of  the  moon ;  while 
Undine,  lilce  a  hovering  white  dove,  came  sweeping  do^^ii  from 
the  hill,  raised  the  knight  and  Bertalda,  and  supported  them  to 
a  green  spot  of  turf,  where,  by  her  earnest  efibrts,  she  soon  re 
stored  them,  and  dispelled  their  terrors.  She  then  assisted 
Bertalda  to  mount  the  white  palfrey,  on  which  she  had  herself 
been  borne  to  the  valley,  and  thus  all  three  returned  homeward 
to  Castle  Ringstetten. 


CHAP.  XV.] 


UNDINE. 


85 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Passage  down  the  Danube  to  Vienna. 

After  this  last  adventure,  they  lived  at  the  castle  undisturbed 
and  in  peaceful  enjoyment.  The  knight  was  more  and  more 
impressed  with  the  heavenly  goodness  of  his  wife,  which  she 
had  so  nobly  shown  by  her  instant  pursuit,  and  by  the  rescue 
she  had  effected  in  the  Black  Valley,  where  the  power  of 
Kiihleborn  again  commenced.  Undine  herself  felt  that  peace 
and  security  which  the  mind  never  fails  to  experience,  so  long 
as  it  has  the  consciousness  of  being  in  the  path  of  rectitude  ; 
and  she  had  this  additional  comfort,  that,  in  the  newly  awaken- 
ed love  and  regard  of  her  husband,  Hope  and  Joy  were  rising 
upon  her  with  their  myriad  beams  of  promise. 

Bertalda,  on  the  other  hand,  showed  herself  grateful,  humble, 
and  timid,  without  taking  to  herself  any  merit  for  so  doing. 
Whenever  Hulbrand  or  Undine  began  to  explain  to  her  their 
reason  for  covering  the  fountain,  or  their  adventures  in  the 
Black  Valley,  she  would  earnestly  entreat  them  to  spare  her 
the  recital,  since  the  fountain  had  occasioned  her  too  much 
shame,  and  the  Black  Valley  too  much  terror,  to  be  made 
topics  of  conversation.  With  respect  to  these,  therefore,  she 
learnt  nothing  further  from  either  of  them;  and  why  was  it 
necessary  that  she  should  be  informed?  Peace  and  Happi- 
ness had  visibly  taken  up  their  abode  at  Castle  Ringstetten. 
They  enjoyed  their  present  blessings  in  perfect  security ;  and 
in  relation  to  the  future,  they  now  imagined  it  impossible,  that 
life  could  produce  any  thing  but  pleasant  flowers  and  fruits. 

In  this  grateful  union  of  friendship  and  affection,  winter  came 
and  passed  away ;  and  spring,  with  its  foliage  of  tender  green 
and  its  heaven  of  softest  blue^  succeeded  to  gladden  the  hearts 


8b* 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  x» 


of  the  inmates  of  the  castle.  The  season  was  in  harmony  with 
their  minds,  and  their  minds  imparted  their  own  hue  and  tone 
to  tlie  season.  What  wonder,  then,  that  its  storks  and  swal- 
lows inspired  them  also  with  a  disposition  to  t.tivel !  On  a 
bright  morning,  while  they  were  taking  a  walk  down  to  one  of 
the  sources  of  the  Danube,  Huldbrand  spoke  of  the  magnifi- 
cence of  this  noble  stream,  how  it  continued  swelling  as  it  flow  - 
ed  through  countries  enriched  by  its  Avaters,  with  what  splen- 
dour Vienna  rose  and  sparkled  on  its  banks,  and  how  it  grew 
lovelier  and  more  imposing  almost  the  whole  of  its  progress. 

"  It  must  be  glorious  to  trace  its  course  down  to  Vienna !" 
Bertalda  exclaimed  with  warmth ;  but,  immediately  resuming 
the  humble  and  modest  demeanour  she  had  recently  shown,  she 
paused  and  blushed  in  silence. 

This  slight  circumstance  was  extremely  touching  to  Undine; 
and  with  the  liveliest  wish  to  gratify  her  friend,  she  said  :  "  And 
who  or  what  shall  prevent  our  taking  this  little  voyage  ?" 

Bertalda  leapt  up  with  delight,  and  the  two  females  the  same 
moment  began  painting  this  enchanting  trip  on  the  Danube  in 
the  most  brilliant  colours.  Huldbrand,  too,  agreed  to  the  pro- 
ject with  pleasure  ;  only  he  once  whispered  with  something  of 
alarm  in  Undine's  ear :  "  But,  at  that  distance,  Kiihleborn  be- 
comes possessed  of  his  power  again  ?" 

"  Let  him  come,  let  him  come,"  she  answered  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  I  shall  be  there,  and  he  dares  do  none  of  his  mischief  in  my 
presence." 

Thus  was  the  last  impediment  removed ;  they  prepared  for 
the  expedition,  and  soon  set  out  upon  it  with  lively  spirits  and 
the  brightest  hopes. 

But  be  not  surprised,  O  man,  if  events  almost  always  happen 
very  differently  from  what  you  expect.  That  malign  power, 
tvhich  lies  in  ambush  for  our  destruction,  delights  to  lull  its 
chosen  victim  asleep  with  sweet  songs  and  golden  delusions  ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  messenger  of  Heaven,  sent  to 
rescue  us  from  peril,  o^ten  thunders  at  our  doo^  with  the  vio- 
lence of  alarm  and  terror. 


CHAP.  XV.] 


UNDINE. 


87 


During  the  first  days  of  their  passage  down  the  Danube,  they 
were  unusually  gratified.  The  further  they  advanced  upon  the 
waters  of  this  proud  river,  the  views  became  more  and  more 
picturesque  and  attractive.  But  here,  amid  scenes  otherwise 
most  delicious,  and  from  which  they  had  promised  themselves 
the  purest  delight,  here  again  the  stubborn  Kiihleborn,  drop- 
ping all  disguise,  began  to  show  his  power  of  annoying  them. 
He  had  no  other  means  of  doing  this,  indeed,  than  mere  tricks 
and  illusions,  for  Undine  often  rebuked  the  swelling  w  aves  or 
the  contrary  winds,  and  then  the  insolence  of  the  enemy  was 
instantly  humbled  and  subdued  ;  but  his  attacks  were  renewed, 
and  Undine's  reproofs  again  became  necessary;  so  that  the 
pleasure  of  this  little  water-party  was  completely  destroyed. 
The  boatmen,  too,  were  continually  whispering  to  one  another 
in  dismay,  and  eyeing  their  three  superiors  with  distrust ;  while 
even  the  servants  began  more  and  more  to  form  dismal  sur- 
mises, and  to  watch  their  master  and  mistress  with  looks  of  sus- 
picion. 

Huldbrand  often  said  to  himself,  in  the  silence  of  his  soul : 
"  This  comes  to  pass,  when  like  marries  not  like, — when  a  man 
forms  an  unnatural  union  with  a  female  of  the  sea."  Still,  ex- 
cusing himself,  as  we  are  most  of  us  so  fond  of  doing,  he  fre- 
quently pursued  a  train  of  thought  like  this :  "  I  did  not  in  ftict 
know  that  she  was  a  maid  of  the  sea.  It  is  my  misfortune, 
that  all  my  steps  are  haunted  and  disturbed  by  the  wild  hu- 
mours of  her  kindred,  but  it  is  not  my  crime." 

Making  reflections  like  these,  he  felt  himself  in  some  measure 
strengthened  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  only  the  more  enter- 
tained a  feeling  of  ill-humour  against  Undine,  almost  amount- 
ing to  malevolence.  He  cast  upon  her  glances  of  fretfulness 
and  ill-nature,  and  the  unhappy  wife  but  too  well  understood 
their  meaning. 

One  day,  grieved  by  this  unkindness,  as  well  as  exhausted 
by  her  continual  exertions  to  foil  the  artifices  of  Kiihleborn, 
while  rocked  and  soothed  by  the  gen.le  motion  of  the  bark,  she 
toward  evening  fell  into  a  deep  slumber.    But  hardly  had  she 


88 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XV 


closed  her  eyes,  when  every  person  in  the  boat,  in  whatever 
direction  he  might  look  upon  the  water,  saw  the  head  of  a  man, 
beyond  imagination  frightful :  each  head  rose  out  of  the  waves, 
not  like  that  of  a  person  swimming,  but  quite  perpendicular,  as 
if  firmly  fastened  to  the  watery  mirror,  and  yet  moving  on 
with  the  bark.  Every  one  wished  to  show  to  his  companion 
what  terrified  himself,  and  each  perceived  the  same  expression 
of  horror  on  the  face  of  the  other,  only  his  hand  and  eye  were 
directed  to  a  different  quarter,  as  if  to  a  point  where  the 
monster,  half  laughing  and  half  threatening,  rose  opposite  to 
himself 

When,  however,  they  wished  to  make  one  another  understand 
the  sight,  and  all  cried  out,  "  Look  there  !"  "  No,  there  !"  the 
frightful  heads  all  became  visible  to  each,  and  the  whole  river 
around  the  boat  swarmed  with  the  most  horrible  faces.  All  raised 
a  scream  of  terror  at  the  sight,  and  Undine  started  from  sleep. 
The  moment  she  opened  her  eyes  upon  the  mad  group,  the  de- 
formed visages  disappeared.  But  Huldbrand  was  made  furious 
by  so  many  hideous  visions.  He  would  have  burst  out  in  wild 
imprecations,  had  not  Undine,  with  the  most  submissive  air,  and 
in  the  gentlest  tone  of  supplication,  thus  entreated  him : 

"  For  God's  sake,  my  husband,  do  not  express  displeasure 
against  me  here, — we  are  on  the  water." 

The  knight  was  silent  and  sat  down,  absorbed  in  deep  thought. 
Undine  whispered  in  his  ear :  "  Would  it  not  be  better,  my 
love,  to  give  up  this  foolish  voyage,  and  return  to  Castle  Ring- 
stetten  in  peace  ?" 

But  Huldbrand  murmured  wrathfully:  "  So  I  must  become 
a  prisoner  in  my  own  castle  ?  and  not  be  allowed  to  breathe  a 
moment  but  while  the  fountain  is  covered  ?  Would  to  Heaven 
that  your  cursed  kindred"  

At  these  fatal  words,  Undine  pressed  her  fliir  hand  on  hia 
lips  with  the  most  touching  tenderness.  He  said  no  more,  but, 
assuming  an  air  of  composure,  pondered  on  all  that  Undine  had 
lately  warned  him  to  avoid. 

Bertalda,  meanwhile,  had  given  herself  up  to  a  crowd  of  wild 


CHAP.  XV 


UNDINE. 


89 


and  wandering  thoughts.  Of  Undine's  origin  she  knew  a  good 
deal,  but  not  the  whole ;  and  the  terrible  Kiihleborn  especially 
remained  to  her  an  awful,  an  impenetrable  mystery;  never, 
indeedj  had  she  once  heard  his  name.  Musing  upon  this  series 
of  wo  iders,  she  unclasped,  without  being  fully  conscious  of 
what  she  was  doing,  a  gold  necklace,  which  Huldbrand,  on  one 
of  the  preceding  days  of  their  passage,  had  bought  for  her  of  a 
travelling  trader ;  and  she  was  now  letting  it  swing  in  sport 
just  over  the  surface  of  the  stream,  while,  in  her  dreamy  mood, 
she  enjoyed  the  bright  reflection  it  threw  on  the  water,  so  clear 
beneath  the  glow  of  evening.  That  instant,  a  huge  hand 
flashed  suddenly  up  from  the  Danube,  seized  the  necklace  ir 
its  grasp,  and  vanished  with  it  beneath  the  flood.  Bertaldi 
shrieked  aloud,  and  a  laugh  of  mockery  and  contempt  came 
pealing  up  from  the  depth  of  the  river.* 

The  knight  could  now  restrain  his  wrath  no  longer.  He 
started  up,  gazed  fiercely  upon  the  deep,  poured  forth  a  torrent 
of  reproaches,  heaped  curses  upon  all  who  interfered  with  his 

*  This  fine  passage  of  Fouque  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  a  finer  one 
in  Southey's  Thalaba,  Book  V. : 

"  And  he  drew  off  Abdaldar's  ring, 
And  cast  it  in  the  gulf. 
A  skinny  hand  came  up, 
And  caught  it  as  it  fell, 
And  peals  of  devilish  laughter  shook  the  cave." 
The  reader,  if  he  take  any  interest  in  the  coincidences  of  genius,  may  like 
to  compare  with  these  passages,  the  followiui)   verse  from  king  Arthur's 
death  in  Percy's  Reliques  : 

"  A  hande  and  an  arme  did  meet  the  s  vorde^ 
And  flourish'd  three  times  in  the  air ; 
Then  sunke  benethe  the  renninge  strerae. 
And  of  the  duke  was  scene  noe  mair." 
See  also  this  same  incident  of  the  Hand  very  strongly  pictured  in  Ten- 
nyson's MoRTE  D' Arthur.    The  whole  poem,  indeed,  is  so  full  of  power, 
beauty,  and  tenderness,  that  we  hope  the  author  will  take  a  hint  from  it, 
as  a  suggestion  of  his  good  genius,  relative  to  his  talent  in  this  style  of  com- 
position. 


90 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XV 


friends  or  troubled  his  life,  and  dared  them  all,  water-spirits  or 
mermaids,  to  come  within  the  sweep  of  his  sword. 

Bertalda,  meantime,  wept  for  the  loss  of  the  ornament  so  very- 
dear  to  her  heart,  and  her  tears  were  to  Huld brand  as  oil  pour-ed 
upon  the  flame  of  his  fury ;  while  Undine  held  her  hand  over 
the  side  of  the  boat,  dipping  it  in  the  waves,  softly  murmuring 
to  herself,  and  only  at  times  interrupting  her  strange  mysteriou? 
whisper,  when  she  addressed  her  husband  in  a  voice  of  entreaty ; 
"  Do  not  reprove  me  here,  beloved  ;  blame  all  others,  as  you 
will,  but  here,  do  not  reprove  me  here.  Surely  you  know  the 
reason  !"  And,  in  truth,  though  he  was  trembling  with  excess 
of  passion,  he  with  strong  effort  kept  himself  from  uttering  a 
single  word  against  her. 

She  then  brought  up  in  her  wet  hand,  which  she  had  been 
holding  under  the  waves,  a  coral  necklace  of  such  exquisite 
beauty,  such  sparkling  brilliancy,  as  dazzled  the  eyes  of  all  who 
beheld  it.  "  Take  this,"  said  she,  holding  it  out  kindly  to  Ber- 
talda ;  "  I  have  ordered  it  to  be  brought,  to  make  some  amends 
for  your  loss,  and  do  not,  dear  heart,  be  troubled  any  more." 

But  the  knight  rushed  between  them,  and,  snatching  the  beau- 
tiful ornament  out  of  Undine's  hand,  hurled  it  back  into  the 
flood,  and  in  a  flame  of  rage  exclaimed  :  "  So  then,  you  have  a 
connexion  with  them  forever  ?  In  the  name  of  all  witches  and 
enchanters,  go  and  remain  among  them  with  your  presents, 
you  sorceress,  and  leave  us  human  beings  in  peace  !" 

But  poor  Undine,  with  a  look  of  mute  amazement  and  eyes 
streaming  with  tears,  gazed  on  him,  her  hand  still  stretched  out, 
just  as  it  was  when  she  had  so  lovingly  offered  her  brilliant  gift 
to  Bertalda.  She  then  began  to  weep  more  and  more,  as  if  her 
heart  would  break,  like  a  tender,  innocent  child,  very  bitterly 
grieved.    At  last,  all  wearied  out,  she  said  : 

"  Alas,  dearest,  all  is  over  now, — farewell !  They  shall  do 
you  no  harm  ;  only  remain  true,  lhat  I  may  have  power  to  keep 
them  from  you.  But  I,  alas,  must  go  away,  I  must  go  away, 
even  in  this  early  dawn  of  youth  and  bliss.  O  woe,  woe,  what 
have  you  done  !    O  woe,  woe  !" 


CMAP.  XV.  1 


UNDINE. 


91 


And  she  vanished  over  the  side  of  the  boat. — Whether  she 
plunged  into  the  stream,  or  whether,  like  water  melting  into 
water,  she  flowed  away  with  it,  they  knew  not,  her  disappear- 
ance so  much  resembled  both  united,  and  neither  by  itself.  But 
she  was  gone,  gliding  on  with  the  Danube,  instantly  and  com- 
pletely ;  only  little  waves  were  yet  whispering  and  sobbing 
around  the  boat,*  and  they  seemed  almost  distinctly  to  say .  "  O 
woe,  woe  !    Ah,  remain  true !    O  woe  !" 

Bat  Huldbrand,  in  a  passion  of  burning  tears,  threw  himself 
upon  the  deck  of  the  bark,  and  a  deep  swoon  soon  wrapped  the 
wretched  man  in  a  blessed  forgetfulness  of  misery. 

*  The  original  of  this  clause  is,  "  nur  flusterten  noch  kleine  Wellchen 
schluchzend  um  den  Kahn."  If  the  translator  may  be  allowed  to  express 
his  admiration,  without  being  considered  intrusive,  he  would  say  that  nothing 
could  liave  been  more  exquisitely  conceived  than  this  circumstance. 


92 


UNDINE. 


[CITAP.  XVL 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

What  further  happened  to  Huldbrand. 

The  brief  period  of  our  mourning, — ought  we  to  ziew  it  as  a 
misfortune,  or  as  a  blessing  ?  I  mean  that  deep  mourning  of 
the  heart,  which  gushes  up  from  the  very  well-springs  of  our 
being  ;  that  mourning,  which  becomes  so  perfectly  one  with  the 
lost  object  of  our  affection,  that  this  even  ceases  to  be  a  lost 
thing  to  the  sorromng  heart ;  and  which  desires  to  make  the 
whole  life  a  holy  office  dedicated  to  the  image  of  the  depart- 
ed, until  we  too  pass  that  bourne  which  separates  it  from  our 
view. 

Some  men  there  are,  indeed,  who  have  this  profound  tender- 
ness of  spirit,  and  who  thus  consecrate  their  affections  to  the 
memory  of  the  departed  ;  but  still  their  mourning  softens  into 
an  emotion  of  gentle  melancholy,  having  none  of  the  intense- 
ness  of  the  first  agony  of  separation.  Other  and  foreign  images 
intervene,  and  impress  themselves  upon  the  mind  ;  we  learn  at 
last  the  transitory  nature  of  every  thing  earthly,  even  from  that 
of  our  affliction ;  and  I  cannot  therefore  but  view  it  as  a  mis- 
fortune, that  the  period  of  our  mourning  is  so  brief 

The  lord  of  Ringstetten  learnt  the  truth  of  this  by  experience ; 
but  whether  he  derived  any  advantage  from  the  knowledge,  we 
shall  discover  in  the  sequel  of  this  history.  At  first  he  could  do 
nothing  but  weep,  weep  as  bitterly  as  the  poor  amiable  Undine 
had  wept,  when  he  snatched  out  of  her  hand  that  brilliant  or- 
nament, Avith  which  she  so  beautifully  wished  to  make  amends 
for  Bertalda's  loss.  And  then  he  stretched  his  hand  out  as  she 
had  done,  and  wept  again  like  her  with  renewed  violence. 
He  'cherished  a  secret  hope,  that  even  the  springs  of  life  would 
at  last  become  exhausted  by  weeping  ;  and  when  we  have  been 


CIIAP.  XVI.] 


UNDINE. 


93 


severely  afflicted,  has  not  a  similar  thought  passed  through  the 
minds  of  many  of  us  with  a  painful  pleasure  ?  Bertalda  wept 
with  him  ;  and  they  lived  together  a  long  while  at  Castle  Ring- 
stetten  in  undisturbed  quiet,  honouring  the  memory  of  Undine, 
and  having  almost  wholly  forgotten  their  former  attachment. 

Owing  to  this  tender  remembrance  of  Huldbrand,  and  to  en- 
courage him  in  conduct  so  exemplary,  the  good  Undine,  about 
this  time,  often  visited  his  dreams ;  she  soothed  him  with  soft 
and  aflTectionate  caresses,  and  then  went  away  again,  weeping 
in  silence ;  so  that  when  he  awoke,  he  sometimes  knew  not  how 
his  cheeks  came  to  be  so  wet, — whether  it  was  caused  by  her 
tears,  or  only  by  his  own. 

But  as  time  advanced,  these  visions  became  less  frequent, 
and  the  severity  of  the  knight's  sorrow  was  softened  ;  still  he 
might  never  while  he  lived,  it  may  be,  have  entertained  any 
other  wish  than  thus  to  think  of  Undine  in  silence,  and  to  speak 
of  her  in  conversation,  had  not  the  old  fisherman  arrived  unex- 
pectedly at  the  castle,  and  earnestly  insisted  on  Bertalda's  re- 
turning with  him,  as  his  child.  He  had  received  information 
of  Undine's  disappearance,  and  he  was  not  willing  to  allow 
Bertalda  to  continue  longer  at  the  castle  with  the  now  unmar- 
ried knight.  "  For,"  said  he,  "  whether  my  daughter  loves  me 
or  not,  is  at  present  what  I  care  not  to  know ;  but  her  good 
name  is  at  stake,  and  where  tJiat  commands  or  forbids,  not  a 
word  more  need  be  said." 

This  resolution  of  the  old  fisherman,  and  the  fearful  solitude, 
that,  on  Bertalda's  departure,  thieatened  to  oppress  the  knight 
in  every  hall  and  passage  of  the  deserted  castle,  brought  a  cir- 
cumstance into  distinct  consciousness,  which,  owing  to  his  sor- 
row for  Undine,  had  of  late  been  slumbering  and  completely 
forgotten, — I  mean  his  attachment  to  the  fair  Bertalda ;  and  this 
he  made  known  to  her  father. 

The  fisherman  had  many  objections  to  make  to  the  proposed 
marriage.  The  old  man  had  loved  Undine  with  exceeding 
tenderness,  and  it  was  doubtful  to  his  mind,  whether  the  mere 
disappearance  of  his  beloved  child  could  be  properly  viewed  as 


UNDINE; 


[chap.  XVI. 


her  death.  But  were  it  even  granted,  that  her  corse  were  ly- 
ing stiff  and  cold  at  the  bottom  of  the  Danube,  or  swept  away 
by  the  current  to  the  ocean,  still  Bertalda  would  not  be  guilt- 
.  ess  in  her  death ;  and  it  was  unfitting  for  her  to  step  into  the 
place  of  the  poor  banished  wife.  The  fisherman,  however,  had 
felt  a  strong  regard  also  for  the  knight :  this,  and  the  entrea- 
ties of  his  daughter,  who  had  become  much  more  gentle  and 
respectful,  as  well  as  her  tears  for  Undine,  all  exerted  their  in- 
fluence ;  and  he  must  at  last  have  been  forced  to  give  up  his 
opposition,  for  he  remained  at  the  castle  without  objection,  and  a 
courier  was  sent  off  express  to  father  Heilmann,  who  in  former 
and  happier  days  had  united  Undine  and  Huldbrand,  request- 
ing him  to  come  and  perform  the  ceremony  at  the  knight's 
second  marriage. 

But  hardly  had  the  holy  man  read  through  the  letter  from 
the  lord  of  Ringstetten,  ere  he  set  out  upon  the  journey,  and 
made  much  greater  dispatch  on  his  way  to  the  castle,  than  the 
messenger  from  there  had  made  in  reaching  him.  Whenever 
his  breath  failed  him  in  his  rapid  progress,  or  his  old  limbs 
ached  with  fatigue,  he  would  say  to  himself :  "  Perhaps  I  may 
still  be  in  season  to  prevent  a  sin ;  then  sink  not,  weak  and 
withered  body,  before  I  arrive  at  the  end  of  my  journey !" 
And  with  renewed  vigour  he  pressed  forward,  hurrying  on 
without  rest  or  repose,  until,  late  one  evening,  he  entered  the 
embowered  court-yard  of  Castle  Ringstetten.  - 

The  betrothed  pair  were  sitting  arm-in-arm  under  the  trees, 
and  the  aged  fisherman  in  a  thoughtful  mood  sat  near  them. 
The  moment  they  saw  father  Heilmann,  they  rose  with  a  spring 
of  joy,  and  pressed  round  him  with  eager  welcome.  But  he, 
in  few  words,  urged  the  bridegroom*  to  accompany  him  into  the 
casde ;  and  when  Huldbrand  stood  mute  with  surprise,  and  de- 
layed complying  with  his  earnest  request,  the  pious  priest  said 
to  him: 


*  The  betrothed,  are  called  bride  and  bridegroom  in  Grermany. 


CHAP.  XVI.] 


UNDINE. 


95 


"  Why  do  I  then  defer  speaking,  my  lord  of  Ringstctlcii. 
until  I  can  address  you  in  private  ?  There  is  no  occasion  for 
the  delay  of  a  moment.  What  I  have  to  say,  as  much  concernf? 
Bertalda  and  the  fisherman  as  yourself ;  and  what  we  cannot 
avoid  hearing  at  some  time,  it  is  best  to  hear  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. Are  you  then  so  very  certain^  knight  Huldbrand,  that 
your  first  wife  is  actually  dead  ?  It  hardly  appears  so  to  me. 
I  will  say  nothing,  indeed,  of  the  mysterious  state  in  which  she 
may  be  now  existing ;  in  truth,  I  know  nothing  of  it  with  c&c- 
tainty.  But  that  she  was  a  most  devoted  and  faithful  wifc^  so 
much  is  beyond  all  dispute.  And  for  fourteen  nights  past,  she 
has  appeared  to  me  in  a  dream,  standing  at  my  bed-side,  wring- 
ing her  tender  hands  in  anguish,  and  imploring  me  with  deep 
sighs :  '  Ah,  prevent  him,  dear  father  !  I  am  still  living !  Ah 
save  his  life !  ah !  save  his  soul !' 

"  What  this  vision  of  the  night  could  mean,  I  was  at  first  un- 
able to  divine  ;  then  came  your  messenger,  and  I  have  now 
hastened  hither,  not  to  unite,  but,  as  I  hope,  to  separate,  what 
ought  not  to  be  joined  together.  Leave  her,  Huldbrand  !  Leave 
him,  Bertalda !  He  still  belongs  to  another ;  and  do  you  not 
see  on  his  pale  cheek  the  traces  of  that  grief,  which  the  disap- 
pearance of  his  wife  has  produced  there  ?  That  is  not  the 
look  of  a  bridegroom,  and  the  spirit  breathes  the  presage  on 
my  soul :  '  If  you  do  not  leave  him,  you  will  never,  never  be 
happy.' " 

The  three  felt  in  their  inmost  hearts,  that  father  Heilmann 
spoke  the  truth ;  but  still  they  affected  not  to  believe  him,  or 
they  strove  rather  to  resist  their  conviction.  Even  the  old 
fisherman  had  become  so  infatuated,  that  he  conceived  the  mar- 
riage to  be  now  indispensable,  as  they  had  so  often,  during 
the  time  he  had  been  with  them,  mutually  agreed  to  the  ar- 
rangement. They  all,  therefore,  with  a  determined  and  gloomy 
eagerness,  struggled  against  the  representations  and  warnings 
of  the  holy  man,  until,  shaking  his  head  and  oppressed  with 
sorrow,  he  finally  quitted  the  castle,  not  choosing  to  accep* 


96 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XVI, 


their  offered  shelter  even  for  a  single  night,  or  indeed  so  much 
as  to  taste  a  morsel  of  the  refreshment  they  brought  him.  Huld- 
brand  persuaded  himself,  however,  that  the  priest  was  a  mere 
visionary,  and  sent  at  day-break  to  a  monk  of  the  nearest  mo- 
nastery, who,  without  scruple,  promised  to  perform  the  ceremo- 
ny in  a  lew  days. 


CHAP  XVIl  ] 


UNDINE. 


97 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

The  Knight's  Dream. 

It  was  at  the  earliest  moment  of  dawn,  when  night  begins  faint- 
ly to  brighten  into  morning  twilight,  that  Huldbrand  was  lying 
on  his  couch,  half  waking  and  half  sleeping.  Whenever  he 
attempted  to  compose  himself  to  sleep,  he  was  seized  with  an 
undefined  terror,  that  made  him  shrink  back  from  the  enjoy- 
ment, as  if  his  slumber  were  crowded  with  spectres.  But 
whenever  he  made  an  effort  to  rouse  himself,  the  wings  of  a 
swan  seemed  to  be  waving  around  him,  and  soothing  him  with 
the  music  of  their  motion,  and  thus  in  a  soft  delusion  of  the 
senses  he  sunk  back  into  his  state  of  imperfect  repose. 

At  last,  however,  he  must  have  fallen  perfectly  asleep  ;  for, 
while  the  sound  of  the  swan-wings  was  murmuring  around  him, 
he  seemed  to  be  lifted  by  their  regular  strokes,  and  to  be  waft- 
ed far  away  over  land  and  sea,  and  still  their  music  swelled  on 
his  ear  most  sweetly.  "  The  music  of  the  swan  !  the  song  of 
the  swan !"  he  could  not  but  repeat  to  himself  every  moment ; 
"  is  it  not  a  sure  foreboding  of  death  Probably,  however,  it 
had  yet  another  meaning.  All  at  once  he  seemed  to  be  hover- 
ing over  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  A  swan  with  her  loud  melody 
sung  in  his  ear,  that  this  was  the  Mediterranean  Sea  ;  and  while 
he  was  lookmg  down  upon  the  waves,  they  became  transparent 
as  crystal,  so  that  he  could  see  through  them  to  the  very  bottom. 

At  this  a  thrill  of  delight  shot  through  him,  for  he  could  see 
Undine,  where  she  was  sitting  beneath  the  clear  domes  of  crys- 
tal. It  is  true,  she  was  weeping  very  bitterly,  and  such  was 
the  excess  of  her  grief,  that  she  bore  only  a  faint  resemblance 
to  the  bright  and  joyous  being  she  had  been,  during  those  hap- 
py days  they  had  lived  together  at  Castle  Ringstetten,  both  on 
8 


98 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XVIt 


their  arrival  there  and  afterward,  a  short  time  before  they  set 
out  upon  their  fatal  passage  down  the  Danube.  The  knight 
could  not  avoid  dwelling  upon  all  this  with  deep  emotion,  but  it 
did  noc  appear  that  Undine  was  aware  of  his  presence. 

Kiihleborn  had  meanwhile  approached  her,  and  was  about  (o 
reprove  her  for  weeping,  when  she  assumed  the  boldness  of  supe- 
riority, and  looked  upon  him  with  an  air  so  majestic  and  com- 
manding, that  he  was  well-nigh  terrified  and  confounded  by  it. 

"  Although  I  too  now  dwell  here  beneath  the  waters,"  said 
she,  "  yet  I  have  brought  my  soul  with  me  ;  and  therefore  I 
may  well  be  allowed  to  weep,  little  as  you  may  conceive  the 
meaning  of  such  tears.  They  are  even  a  blessed  privilege,  as 
every  thing  is  such  a  privilege,  to  one  gifted  with  the  true  soul." 

He  shook  his  head  with  disbelief  of  what  she  said,  and,  after 
musing  a  moment  or  two,  replied :  "  And  yet,  niece,  you  are 
subject  to  our  laws  of  the  element,  as  a  being  of  the  same  na- 
ture with  ourselves ;  and,  should  he  prove  unfaithful  to  you 
and  marry  again,  you  are  obliged  to  take  away  his  life." 

"  He  remains  a  widower  to  this  very  hour,"  replied  Undine, 
"  and  he  still  loves  me  with  the  passion  of  a  sorrovdul  heart." 

"He  is,  however,  a  bridegroom  withal,"  said  Kiihleborn, 
with  a  chuckle  of  scorn  ;  "  and  let  only  a  few  days  wear  away, 
and  anon  comes  the  priest  with  his  nuptial  blessing,  and  then 
you  must  go  up  and  execute  your  share  of  the  business,  the 
death  of  the  husband  with  two  wives." 

"I  have  not  the  power,"  returned  Undine,  with  a  smile. 
"  Do  you  not  remember  ?  I  have  sealed  up  the  fountain  se- 
curely, not  only  against  myself  but  all  of  the  same  race." 

"  Still,  should  he  leave  his  castle,"  said  Kiihleborn,  "  or 
should  he  once  allow  the  fountain  to  be  uncovered,  what  then  ? 
for  doubtless  he  thinks  there  is  no  great  murder  in  such  trifles."* 

"  For  that  very  reason,"  said  Undine,  still  smiling  amid  hex 

*  "  Dcnn  er  denkt  gewiss  blutwenig  an  alle  diese  Dlnge."  '  For  he  surely 
thinks  very  little  of  all  these  things.'  The  temptation  tQ  render  this  odd 
idiom,  blutwenig,  by  some  equivalent  phrase  in  English,  was  a  whim  too 
fctrong  to  be  resisted. 


CHAP.  XVII.] 


UNDINE. 


99 


tears,  "  for  that  very  reason  he  is  this  moment  hovering  in  spirit 
here  over  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  and  dreaming  of  this  voice  of 
warning  which  our  conversation  affords  him.  With  a  view  to 
give  him  this  warning,  I  have  studiously  disposed  the  whole 
vision." 

That  instant  Kiihleborn,  inflamed  with  rage,  looked  up  at  the 
knight,  ^vrathfully  threatened  him,  stamped  upon  the  ground, 
and  then,  swift  as  the  passion  that  possessed  him,  sprang  up 
from  beneath  the  waves.  He  seemed  to  swell  in  his  fury  to  :he 
size  of  a  whale.  Again  the  swans  began  to  sing,  to  wave  their 
wings,  to  fly;  the  knight  seemed  to  be  soaring  away  over 
mountains  and  streams,  and  at  last  to  alight  at  Castle  Ringstet- 
ten,  where  he  awoke  upon  his  couch. 

Upon  his  couch  he  actually  did  awake,  and  his  attendant, 
entering  at  the  same  moment,  informed  him,  that  father  Heil- 
mann  was  still  lingering  in  the  neighbourhood ;  that  he  had, 
the  evening  before,  met  with  him  in  the  forest,  where  he  was 
sheltering  himself  under  a  booth,  which  he  had  formed  by  in- 
terweaving the  branches  of  trees,  and  covering  them  with  moss 
and  fine  brush-wood ;  and  that  to  the  question,  '  What  he  was 
doing  there,  since  he  had  so  firmly  refused  to  perform  the  nup- 
tial ceremony  V  his  answer  was : 

"  There  are  yet  other  ceremonies  to  perform,  beside  those  at 
the  altar  of  marriage ;  and  though  I  did  not  come  to  officiate 
at  the  wedding,  I  can  still  officiate  at  a  very  difl^erent  solemnity. 
All  things  have  their  season,  and  we  must  be  ready  for  them 
all.  Besides,  marrying  and  mourning  are  by  no  means  very 
far  from  each  fjther,  as  every  one,  not  wilfully  blinded,  must 
know  full  well." 

In  consequence  of  these  words  and  of  his  dream,  the  knight 
made  a  variety  of  reflections,  some  wild  and  some  not  utimix- 
ed  with  alarm.  But  a  man  is  apt  to  consider  it  very  disagree' 
able  to  give  over  an  affair,  which  he  has  once  settled  in  his 
mind  as  certain,  and  therefore  all  went  on  just  according  to  the 
old  arrangement. 


100 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XVUl 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

How  the  Knight  Huldbrand  solemnized  his  marriage. 

Should  I  relate  to  you  the  events  of  the  marriage  festival  at 
Castle  Riiigstettcrij  it  would  seem  as  if  you  were  viewing  a 
crowded  assemblage  of  bright  and  joyous  things,  but  all  over- 
spread with  a  black  mourning  crape,  through  whose  darkening 
vejl  the  whole  splendour  appeared  less  to  resemble  pleasure, 
than  a  mockery  of  the  nothingness  of  all  earthly  joys. 

It  was  not  that  any  spectral  visitation  disturbed  the  scene  of 
festivity;  for  the  castle,  as  we  well  know,  had  been  secured 
against  the  mischief  and  menaces  of  water-spirits.  But  the 
knight,  the  fisherman,  and  all  the  guests,  were  unable  to  banish 
the  feeling,  that  the  chief  personage  of  the  feast  was  still  want- 
ing, and  that  this  chief  personage  could  be  no  other  than  the 
amiable  Undine,  so  dear  to  them  all. 

Whenever  a  door  was  heard  to  open,  all  eyes  were  involun- 
tarily turned  in  that  direction ;  and  if  it  was  nothing  but  the 
steward  with  new  dishes,  or  the  cup-bearer  with  a  supply  of 
wine  of  higher  flavour  than  the  last,  they  again  looked  down 
in  sadness  and  disappointment ;  while  the  flashes  of  wit  and 
merriment  that  had  been  passing  at  times  from  one  to  another, 
ceased,  and  were  succeeded  by  tears  of  mournful  remem- 
brance. 

The  bride  was  the  least  thoughtful  of  the  company,  and 
therefore  the  most  happy ;  but  even  she,  occasionally,  found  it 
difiicult  to  realize  the  fact,  that  she  was  sitting  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  wearing  a  green  garland  and  gold-embroidered  gar- 
ments, while  Undine  was  lying  a  corse,  stiff*  and  cold,  ai  the 
bottom  of  the  Danube,  or  carried  out  by  the  current  into  the 
ocean.    For,  ever  since  her  father  had  suggested  something  of 


CHAP.  XVIII.] 


ITNDINE. 


101 


this  sort,  his  words  were  continually  sounding  in  her  ear  ;  and 
this  day,  in  particular,  they  would  neither  fade  from  her  me- 
mory nor  yield  to  other  thoughts. 

Evening  had  scarcely  arrived,  when  the  company  returned 
to  their  homes ;  not  dismissed  by  the  impatience  of  the  bride- 
groom, as  wedding  parties  are  sometimes  broken  up,  but  con- 
strained solely  by  painful  associations,  joyless  melancholy,  and 
forebodings  of  evil.  Bertalda  retired  with  her  maidens,  and  the 
knight  with  his  attendants,  to  undress  ;  but  these  young  bride- 
maids  and  bridemen,  such  was  the  gloomy  tenor  of  this  festival, 
made  no  attempt  to  amuse  bride  or  bridegroom  with  the  usual 
pleasantry  and  frolicksome  good-humour  of  the  occasion. 

Bertalda  wished  to  awake  a  livelier  spirit ;  she  ordered  them  to 
spread  before  her  a  brilliant  set  of  jewels,  a  present  from  Huld- 
brand,  together  with  rich  apparel  and  veils,  that  she  might 
select  from  among  them  the  brightest  and  most  beautiful  for  her 
dress  in  the  morning.  The  attendants  rejoiced  at  this  oppor- 
tunity of  pouring  forth  good  wishes  and  promises  of  happiness 
to  their  young  mistress,  and  failed  not  to  extol  the  beauty  of  the 
bride  with  their  liveliest  eloquence.  They  became  more  and 
more  absorbed  in  this  admiration  and  flattery,  until  Bertalda  at 
last,  looking  in  a  mirror,  said  with  a  sigh : 

"  Ah,  but  do  you  not  see  plainly  how  freckled  I  am  growing  ? 
Look  here  on  the  side  of  my  neck." 

They  looked  at  the  place,  and  found  the  freckles,  indeed,  as 
their  fair  mistress  had  said  ;  but  they  called  them  mere  beauty- 
spots,  the  faintest  touches  of  the  sun,  such  as  would  only  heighten 
the  \^'hiteness  of  her  delicate  complexion.  Bertalda  shook  her 
he.'id,  and  still  viewed  them  as  a  blemish. 

And  I  could  remove  them,"  she  said  at  last,  sighing.  "  But 
ihe  castle-fountain  is  covered,  from  which  I  formerly  used  to 
have  that  precious  water,  so  purifying  to  the  skin.  O,  had  I 
this  evening  only  a  single  flagon  of  it !" 

Is  that  all  ?"  cried  an  alert  waiting-maid,  laughing,  as  she 
glided  out  of  the  apartment. 

"  She  will  not  b.e  so  frantic,"  said  Bertalda,  in  a  voice  of  in- 


102 


UNDIT^E. 


[criAP.  xviii. 


quiry  and  agreeably  surprisedj  "  as  to  cause  the  stone  cover  of 
ihe  fountain  to  be  taken  off  this  very  evening  ?" 

That  instant  they  heard  the  tread  of  men  already  passing 
along  the  court-yard,  and  could  see  from  the  window  where  the 
officious  girl  was  leading  them  directly  up  to  the  fountain,  and 
that  they  carried  levers  and  other  instruments  on  their  shoulders. 

"  L  is  certainly  my  will,"  said  Bertalda  with  a  smile,  "  if  it 
does  not  take  them  too  long."  And,  pleased  with  the  thought, 
tliat  the  merest  hint  from  her  was  now  sufficient  to  accomplish 
what  had  formerly  been  refused  with  a  painful  reproof,  she 
looked  down  upon  their  operations  in  the  bright  moonlight  of  the 
castle  court. 

The  men  seized  the  enormous  stone,  as  if  they  must  exert  all 
their  strength  in  raising  it ;  some  one  of  their  number  indeed 
would  occasionally  sigh,  when  he  recollected  they  were  destroy- 
ing the  work  of  their  former  beloved  mistress.  Their  labour, 
however,  was  much  lighter  than  they  had  expected.  It  seemed 
as  if  some  power,  from  within  the  fountain  itself,  aided  them  in 
raising  the  stone. 

"  It  certainly  appears,"  said  the  workmen  to  one  another  in 
astonishment,  "  as  if  the  confined  water  were  become  a  jet  or 
spouting  fountain."  And  the  stone  rose  more  and  more,  and, 
almost  without  the  assistance  of  the  work-people,  rolled  slowly 
away  upon  the  pavement  with  a  hollow  sound.  But  an  appear-, 
ance,  from  the  opening  of  the  fountain,  filled  them  with  awe,  as 
it  rose  like  a  white  column  of  water  :  at  first  they  imagined  it 
to  be  a  spouting  fountain  in  good  earnest,  until  they  perceived 
the  rising  form  to  be  a  pale  female,  veiled  in  white.  She  wept 
bitterly,  raised  her  hands  above  her  head,  and  wrung  them  with 
anguish,  as  with  slow  and  solemn  step  she  moved  toward  the 
castle.  The  servants  shrunk  back,  and  fled  from  the  fountain  ; 
while  the  bride,  pale  and  motionless  with  horror,  stood  with  her 
maidens  at  the  window  from  which  she  had  been  viewing  what 
passed  without.  When  the  figure  had  now  come  close  beneath 
their  room,  it  looked  up  to  them  and  uttered  the  low  moaning  of 
misery,  and  Bertalda  thought  she  recognized  through  the  veil 


CHAP.  XVIII.] 


UNDINK 


103 


the  pale  features  of  Undinr  But  the  mourn' ..  g  form  passed  on 
as  sad,  reluctant,  and  lingering,  as  if  going  t<.^  the  place  of  exe- 
cution. Bertalda  screamecJ  to  her  maids  to  call  the  knight ; 
not  one  of  them  dared  to  stir  from  her  place ;  and  even  the  bride 
herself  became  again  mute,  as  if  trembling  at  the  sound  of  her 
own  voice. 

While  they  continued  standing  at  the  window,  o\  erpowered 
with  terror  and  motionless  as  statues,  the  mysterious  wanderer 
entered  the  castle,  ascended  the  well-known  stairs,  and  tra- 
versed the  well-known  halls,  her  tears  ever  flowing  in  silent 
woe.  Alas,  with  what  different  emotions  had  she  once  passed 
through  these  rooms ! 

The  knight  had  in  the  mean  time  dismissed  his  attendants. 
Half  undressed  and  in  deep  dejection^  he  was  standing  before 
a  large  mirror  ;  a  wax  taper  burned  dimly  beside  him.  At 
this  moment  he  heard  a  low  tapping  at  his  door,  the  least  per- 
ceptible touch  of  a  finger.  Undine  had  formerly  tapped  in 
this  way,  when  she  wished  to  amuse  him  with  her  endearing 
sportiveness. 

"  It  is  all  illusion!  a  mere  freak  of  fancy!"  said  he  to  him- 
self   "  I  must  to  my  nuptial  bed." 

"  You  must,  indeed,  but  to  a  cold  one !"  he  heard  a  voice, 
choked  with  sobs,  repeat  from  without ;  and  then  he  saw  in  the 
mirror,  that  the  door  of  his  room  was  slowly,  slowly  opened,  and 
the  white  wanderer  entered,  and  gently  secured  it  behind  her. 

"  They  have  opened  the  fountain,"  said  she  in  a  low  tone, 
"  and  now  I  am  here  and  you  must  die." 

He  felt  in  the  shock  and  death-pause  of  his  heart,  that  this 
must  indeed  be  his  doom  ,:  but,  covering  his  eyes  with  his 
hands,  he  cried:  "  Do  not,  in  my  death-hour,  do  not  drive  me 
to  distraction  with  terror.  If  you  have  a  visage  of  horror  be- 
hind that  veil,  do  not  lift  it !  Take  my  life,  but  let  me  not  see 
you." 

"  Alas  !"  replied  the  wanderer,  "  will  you  not  then  look  upon 
me  once  mo^e  ?  I  am  as  beautiful  now  as  when  you  wooed 
mo  on  the  peninsula  !" 


104 


UNDINE. 


[chap,  xviir 


"  O  would  to  God  it  were  so !"  sighed  Huldbrand,  "  and 
that  I  might  die  by  a  kiss  from  you  !" 

"  Most  wiKingly  do  I  grant  your  wish,  my  dearest  love,"  saia 
she.  And  as  she  threw  back  her  veil,  her  dear  face  met  his 
view,  smiling  with  celestial  beauty.  Trembling  with  love  and 
the  awe  of  approaching  death,  the  knight  stooped  to  give  and 
receive  the  embrace.  She  kissed  him  with  the  holy  kiss  of 
Heaven ;  bu.t  she  relaxed  not  her  hold,  pressing  him  more  pas- 
sionately in  her  arms,  and  weeping  as  if  she  would  weep  away 
her  soul.  Tears  rush^.d  into  the  knight's  eyes,  while  a  thrill 
both  of  bliss  and  agony*  shot  through  his  heart,  until  he  at  last 
expired,  sinking  softly  Da:k  from  her  fair  arms,  and  resting  upon 
the  pillow  of  his  couch,  a  corse. 

"  I  have  wept  him  to  death  !"  said  she  to  some  domestics, 
who  met  her  in  the  anti-chamber  ;  and  passing  through  the  ter- 
rified group,  she  went  slowly  out  and  disappeared  in  the 
fountain. 

*  The  expression  of  the  original  is,  "  lieblichen  Wehe,"  '  a  blissful  agony,* 
or  'pang.''  This  union  of  opposite  qualities,  however  bold  the  conception 
producing  it,  and  however  suited  to  express  the  death-pang  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, forms  a  curious  felicity,  rather  too  violent  to  be  often  admitted 
ill  English.     Plirases  of  tliis  kind  are  more  familiar  in  German. 


CHAP.  XIX.] 


UNDINE. 


105 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

How  the  Knight  Huldbrand  was  buried. 

Father  Heilmann  had  returned  to  the  castle,  as  soon  as  the 
death  of  the  lord  of  Ringstetten  was  made  known  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood ;  and  he  arrived  at  the  very  hour  when  the  monk, 
who  had  married  the  unfortunate  couple,  was  hurrying  from 
the  door,  overcome  with  dismay  and  horror. 

When  father  Heilmann  was  informed  of  this,  he  replied  : 

It  is  all  well ;  and  now  come  the  duties  of  my  office,  in  which 
I  have  no  need  of  an  assistant." 

He  then  began  to  console  the  bride,  now  become  a  widow, 
small  as  was  the  advantage  her  worldly  and  light-minded  spirit 
derived  from  his  kindness. 

The  old  fisherman,  on  the  other  hand,  though  severely  afflict- 
ed, was  far  more  resigned  in  regard  to  the  fate  of  his  son-in-law 
and  the  calamity  of  his  daughter;  and  while  Bertalda  could 
not  refrain  from  accusing  Undine  as  a  murderess  and  sorceress, 
the  old  man  calmly  said :  "  The  event,  after  all,  could  not  have 
happened  otherwise.  I  see  nothing  in  it  but  the  judgment  of 
God  ;  and  no  one,  I  am  sure,  could  have  his  heart  more  pierced 
by  the  death  of  Huldbrand,  than  she  who  was  obliged  to  ac- 
complish his  doom,  the  poor  forsaken  Undine !" 

He  then  assisted  in  arranging  the  funeral  solemnities,  as 
suited  the  rank  of  the  deceased.  The  knight  was  to  be  interred 
in  a  village  church-yard,  in  whose  consecrated  ground  were 
the  graves  of  his  ancestors :  a  place  which  they,  as  well  as 
himself,  had  endowed  with  rich  privileges  and  gifts.  His  shield 
and  helmet  lay  upon  his  coffin,  ready  to  be  lowered  with  it  into 
the  grave,  for  lord  Huldbrand  of  Ringstetten  had  died  the  last 
of  his  race  ;  the  mourners  began  their  sorrowful  march,  lift- 


106 


UNDINE. 


[chap.  XIX 


ing  the  melancholy  wail  of  their  dirges  amid  the  calm  uncloud- 
ed heaven ;  father  Heilmann  preceded  the  procession,  bearing-  a 
loftj  crucifix,  while  Bertalda  followed  in  her  misery,  supported 
by  her  aged  father. 

While  proceeding  in  this  manner,  they  suddenly  saw,  in  the 
midst  of  the  dark-habited  mourning  females  in  ths  widow's 
train,  a  snow-white  figure,  closely  veiled,  and  wringing  its 
hands  in  the  wild  vehemence  of  sorrow.  Those  next  to  whorr. 
it  moved,  seized  with  a  secret  dread,  started  back  or  on  one 
side  ;  and  owing  to  their  movements,  the  others,  next  to  whom 
the  white  stranger  now  came,  were  terrified  still  more,  so  as  to 
produce  almost  a  complete  disarrangement  of  the  funeral  train. 
Some  of  the  military  escort  ventured  to  address  the  figure,  and 
attempt  to  remove  it  from  the  procession,  but  it  seemed  to 
vanish  from  under  their  hands,  and  yet  was  immediately  seen 
advancing  again,  with  slow  and  solemn  step,  among  the  follow- 
ers of  the  body.  At  last,  in  consequence  of  the  shrinking  away 
of  the  attendants,  it  came  close  behind  Bertalda.  It  now 
moved  so  slowly,  that  the  widow  was  not  aware  of  its  presence^ 
and  it  walked  meekly  on  behind,  neither  suffering  nor  creating 
disturbance. 

This  continued  until  they  came  to  the  church-yard,  where 
the  procession  formed  a  circle  round  the  open  grave.  Then  it 
was  that  Bertalda  perceived  her  unbidden  companion,  and 
prompted  half  by  anger  and  half  by  terror,  she  commanded  her 
to  depart  from  the  knight's  place  of  final  rest.  But  the  veiled 
female,  shaking  her  head  with  a  gentle  refusal,  raised  her  hands 
toward  Bsrtalda,  in  lowly  supplication,  by  which  she  was  great- 
ly moved,  and  could  not  but  remember  with  tears,  how  Undine 
had  shown  such  sweetness  of  spirit  on  the  Danube,  when  she 
held  out  to  her  the  coral  necklace. 

Father  Heilmann  now  motioned  with  his  hand,  and  gave 
order  for  all  to  observe  perfect  stillness,  that  over  the  body, 
whose  mound  was  well-nigh  formed,  they  might  breathe  a  prayer 
of  silent  devotion.  Bertalda  knelt  without  speaking  ;  and  all 
knelt,  even  the  grave  diggers  who  had  now  finished  their  work 


CHAP.  XIX  ] 


UNDINE. 


107 


But  when  they  rose  from  this  breathing  of  the  heart,  the  white 
stranger  had  disappeared.  On  the  spot  where  she  had  kneeled, 
a  little  spring,  of  silver  brightness,  was  gushing  out  from  the 
green  turf,  and  it  kept  swelling  and  flowing  onward  with  a  low 
murmur,  till  it  almost  encircled  the  mound  of  the  knight's 
grave ;  it  then  continued  its  course,  and  emptied  itself  into  a 
calm  lake,  which  lay  by  the  side  of  the  consecrated  ground. 
Even  to  this  day,  the  inhabitants  of  the  village  point  out  the 
spring ; — ^and  they  cannot  but  cherish  the  belief,  that  it  is  the 
poor  deserted  Undine,  who  in  this  manner  still  fondly  encircles 
her  beloved  in  her  arms. 


SnU  OF  UNDINB. 


SINTMM  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 

A  NORTHERN  TALE. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  THE 

BARON  DE  LA  MOTTE  FOUaUE. 

[Republished  fiv^m  Burns'  London  Edition.  \ 


CONTENTS. 


SINTRAM,  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 

Page 

Notice  ok  Sintuam         .       .       .       .       .       .       ,       .  .111 

CiiAP.  1   113 

II                                                                      .       .  117 

HI.    .       .      ,                                                    .       .  123 

IV.     .    ,                              .     .  m 

v.   .    13i 

VI.       .      .                                                  .      .  135 

VII    ...       .             V      .       .       .             .       .  141 

VIII.                                                                        .  146 

IX.   .    .152 

X                                                ,             ...  157 

XI   162 

XII.       .      .  .  .166 

XIII.  ...                                              ...  170 

XIV.                                               .      ,             o       .  174 

XV                                                               ...  178 

XVI   180 

XVII   184 

XVIII   190 

XIX   193 

XX.   196 

XXI   201 

XXII  •   204 

XXIIL  .      •   206 

XXIV   214 

XXV   217 

XXVI   223 

XXVII  ,   226 

XXVIII                                                           ...  231 

XXIX  .235 

XXX   U31 


NOTICE  OF  SINTRAM. 


FROM  THE  author's  PREFACE  TO  IHS  SELECTED  WOP.KS. 


"  FoLKO  of  Montfaufon  was  and  is  peculiarly  endeared  to  my  heart 
as  a  true  type  of  that  old  French  chivalric  glory  which  now  on'y 
emerges  in  individual  appearances,  for  instance,  beautifully,  in  tlie 
Vendean  wars,  which,  though  failing  in  victory,  were  rich  in  honors. 
With  these  feelings,  the  poet  could  not  forbear  from  arraying  hirri 
in  the  colours  of  his  own  escutcheon,  and  assigning  to  him  the 
emblems  of  the  same,  and  even  in  some  measure  denoting  him  by 
his  own  ancestral  name;  for  Foulque  we  were  called  in  old  times, 
which  was  probably  derived,  according  to  our  Norman  descent, 
from  the  Northlandish  name  Folko,  or  Fulko  ;  and  a  castle  '  Mont- 
faufon'  was  among  our  ancient  possessions.  But  here  that  only 
properly  concerns  the  nobie  pair,  Folko  and  Gabrielle,  as  interwo- 
ven in  the  tale  of  '  Sintram.'  The  tale  itself  is  the  offspring 
of  my  own  fantasy,  immediately  suggested  by  Albrecht  Durer's 
admirable  wood  cut  of  'The  Knight,  Deaili  and  Satan,'  the  birth- 
day gift  of  a  former  friend,  with  the  happy  proposal  that  I  should 
frame  from  it  a  romance  or  a  ballad.  It  became  more  than  this ; 
and  the  present  tale  shows  it  to  be  so,  being  supported  by  divers 
traditions,  in  part  derived  to  me  orally,  of  the  Germanic  northern 
customs  in  war  and  festivity,  and  in  many  other  relationships 
beside.  The  legend  indicated  at  the  conclusion  of  the  informa- 
tion respecting  Sintram,  of  the  terrific  stories  of  the  north,  trans- 
formed into  southern  splendour  and  mirthful  dreams,  would  real- 
ly then  have  been  executed,  and  arose  more  clearly  from  the  fan- 
tastic tones  of  a  congenial  harpsichord-player,  who  accidental- 
ly met  the  poet.  Partly,  however,  other  avocations,  partly  inter- 
rupiions  from  without,  have  hitherto  driven  tlie  project  into  the 
back  ground.  But  it  still  lives  within  me;  and  now  again,  from  the 
powerful,  and  yet  child-like  harmonies  of  the  Northman  Ole  Bull, 


PREFACE. 


seems  to  stir  more  vigorously  and  brightly  than  before.  Who  knows 
what  yet  may  happen  ?  Meanwhile  here  gushes  from  me  a  song 
of  salutation  to  one  who,  honoured  by  me  as  master,  is  not  less 
dear  to  me  as  a  man : — 

Profoundly  dreamt  a  youth  on  Norland  waste ; 
But  no — it  is  not  waste  where  fairy  rings 
Reflect  the  past  as  well  as  future  things, 
When  love  and  woe  in  boding  tones  are  drest. 

They  greeted  him,  they  kissed  him,  and  retreated  ; 
They  left  for  him  an  instrument  of  sound, 
Whose  forceful  strings  with  highest  deeds  could  bound, 
And  yet  with  childish  frolics  be  entreated. 

He  wakes — the  gift  he  seizes,  comprehending 
Its  sweet  mysterious  pleasure  how  to  prove, 
And  pours  it  forth  in  pure  harmonious  blending. 

O  raay'st  thou,  ever  victor,  joyful  move, 

Thou  Northland  sailor,  on  life's  voyage  wending, 

Conscious  of  God  within  thee  and  above." 

FoCdUB. 


SINTEAM  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  the  Castle  of  Drontheim  there  were  many  knights  assembled 
to  hold  council  on  the  affairs  of  the  kingdom ;  and  after  their 
debate,  they  remained  till  past  midnight  carousing  together 
around  the  huge  stone  table  in  the  vaulted  hall.  A  rising  storm 
drove  the  snow  wildly  against  the  rattling  windows,  all  the 
thick  oak  doors  groaned,  the  massive  locks  shook,  the  castle 
clock  slowly  and  heavily  struck  the  hour  of  one. 

At  that  instant  a  boy,  pale  as  death,  with  disordered  hair  and 
closed  eyes,  rushed  into  the  hall,  uttering  a  wild  scream  of  ter- 
ror. He  stopped  behind  the  richly-carved  seat  of  the  mighty 
Biorn,  clung  to  the  knight  with  both  his  hands,  and  shrieked  in 
a  piercing  voice,  "  My  knightly  father  !  Death  and  another  are 
closely  pursuing  me." 

An  awful  stillness  reigned  suddenly  in  the  whole  assembly, 
broken  only  by  the  agonized  shrieks  of  the  boy.  But  one  of 
Biorn's  numerous  retainers,  an  old  esquire,  known  by  the  name 
of  Rolf  the  Good,  advanced  towards  the  terrified  child,  took  him 
in  his  arms,  and  half  chanted  this  prayer :  "  Oh,  Father !  help 
Thy  servant !  I  believe,  and  yet  I  cannot  believe."  The  boy, 
as  if  in  a  dream,  at  once  loosened  his  hold  of  the  knight ;  and 
the  good  Rolf  bore  him  from  the  hall  unresisting,  yet  still  shed- 
ding hot  tears,  and  murmuring  confused  sounds. 

The  lords  and  knights  looked  at  one  anothd*  in  mute  amaze- 
ment, until  the  mighty  Biorn  said,  in  a  fierce  but  scornfully- 
deriding  tone,  "  Do  not  suffer  yourselves  to  be  disturbed  by 
9 


114 


SIXTRAM, 


[chap.  I. 


the  appearance  of  that  strange  being.  He  is  my  only  son  • 
and  has  been  in  this  state  since  he  was'-  five  years  old :  he 
is  now  twelve.  I  am,  therefore,  accustomed  to  see  him  so, 
though,  at  the  first,  I  too  was  disquieted  by  it.  The  attack 
comes  upon  him  only  once  in  the  year,  and  always  at  this  same 
time.  But  forgive  me  for  having  spent  so  many  words  on  my 
poor  Sintram,  and  let  us  pass  on  to  some  worthier  subject  for 
our  discourse." 

Again  there  wlis  silence  during  some  minutes.  Then  a  scli- 
tary  voice  began  here  and  there  to  attempt  renewing  their  for- 
mer (ionversation,  but  without  success.  Two  of  the  youngest  and 
most  joyous  spirits  began  a  drinking  song ;  but  the  storm  howled 
and  raged  so  wildly  without,  that  their  mirth  was  soon  checked. 
And  now  they  all  sat  silent  and  motionless  in  the  lofty  hall ; 
the  lamp  flickered  under  the  vaulted  roof;  the  whole  party  of 
knights  looked  like  pale,  lifeless  images,  dressed  up  in  gigan- 
tic armour. 

Then  arose  the  chaplain  of  the  castle  of  Drontheim,  the  only 
priest  among  the  knightly  throng,  and  said,  "  Sir  Biorn,  our 
eyes  and  thoughts  have  all  been  directed  to  you  and  your  son 
in  a  wonderful  manner ;  but  so  it  has  been  ordered  by  the  pro- 
vidence of  God.  You  perceive  that  we  cannot  withdraw  them, 
and  you  would  do  well  to  tell  us  exactly  what  you  know  con- 
cerning the  fearful  state  in  which  we  have  seen  your  boy.  Per- 
chance, such  a  solemn  narration,  as  I  look  forward  to,  might  be 
of  much  use  to  our  disturbed  minds."  , 

Biorn  cast  a  look  of  displeasure  on  the  priest,  and  answered, 
"  You  are  more  concerned  in  the  history,  than  either  you  or  I 
could  desire.  Excuse  me,  if  I  am  unwilling  to  trouble  these 
light-hearted  warriors  with  such  a  nieful  tale." 

But  the  chaplain  approached  nearer  to  the  knight,  and  said, 
in  a  firm  yet  very  mild  tone,  "  Sir  knight,  up  to  this  moment 
it  rested  with  you  to  relate,  or  not  to  relate  it :  but  now  that 
you  have  so  strangely  hinted  at  the  share  which  I  have  had  in 
your  son's  calamity,  I  must  positively  request  that  you  will  re- 
peat word  for  word  now  every  thing  came  to  pass.  My 


CHAP.  J.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


11a 


honour  demands  such  an  explanation,  and  that  will  weigh  with 
you  as  much  as  with  me." 

In  stern  compliance,  Biorn  bowed  his  haughty  head,  and  be- 
gan the  following  narration  : — "  This  time  seven  years,  I  was 
keeping-  the  Christmas-feast  with  my  assembled  followers.  We 
have  many  venerable  old  customs  which  have  descended  to  us 
by  inheritance  from  our  forefathers;  as,  for  instance,  that  of 
placing-  a  gilded  boar's  head  on  the  table,  and  making  thereon 
knightly  vows  of  daring  and  wondrous  deeds.  Our  chaplain 
there,  who  in  those  days  used  frequently  to  visit  me,  was  never 
a  friend  to  keeping  up  such  traditions  of  the  ancient  heathen 
world.  Men  of  his  sort  were  not  much  in  favour  in  those  olden 
times." 

"  My  excellent  predecessors,"  interrupted  the  chaplain,  "  were 
infinitely  more  concerned  in  obtaining  the  favour  of  God,  than 
that  of  the  world,  and  they  were  not  unsuccessful  in  their  aim. 
By  that  means  they  converted  your  ancestors ;  and  if  I  can  in 
like  manner  be  of  service  to  you,  even  your  jeering  will  not 
vex  me." 

With  looks  yet  darker,  and  an  involuntary  shudder,  the 
knight  resumed :  "  Yes,  yes ;  I  know  all  your  promises  and 
threats  concerning  an  invisible  Power ;  and  how  they  are  meant 
to  persuade  us  to  part  more  readily  with  whatever  of  this  world's 
goods  we  may  possess.  There  was  a  time  when  such  belonged 
to  me  !  Occasionally  a  strange  fancy  seizes  me,  and  I  feel  as 
if  ages  had  passed  over  since  then,  and  as  if  I  were  alone  the 
survivor,  so  fearfully  is  every  thing  changed.  But  now  I  recall 
to  my  mind,  that  the  greater  part  of  this  noble  company  knew 
me  in  my  days  of  happiness,  and  have  seen  my  wife,  my  lovely- 
Verena." 

He  pressed  his  hands  on  his  eyes,  and  many  thought  that  he 
wept.  The  tempest  was  now  lulled ;  the  soft  light  of  the  moon 
shone  through  the  windows,  and  her  beams  played  on  his  wi-d 
features.  Suddenly  he  started  up,  so  that  his  heavy  armour 
rattled  with  a  fearful  sound,  and  he  cried  out  in  a  thundering 
voice,  "Shall  I  turn  monk,  because  she  has  become  a  n  n? 


116 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  I. 


No,  crafty  priest ;  your  webs  are  too  thin  to  catch  flies  of  my 
sort." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  webs,"  said  the  chaplain.  "In  all 
openness  and  sincerity  have  I  put  heaven  and  hell  before  you 
during  the  space  of  six  years;  and  you  gave  full  consent  to 
the  step  which  the  holy  Verena  took.  But  what  all  that  has  to 
do  with  your  son's  sufferings,  I  have  yet  to  learn  ;  and  I  wait 
for  your  further  narration." 

"  You  may  wait  long  enough  for  that,"  said  Biorn,  with  a 
sneer,    "  Sooner  shall  " 

"  Swear  not !"  said  the  chaplain  in  a  loud  commanding  tone ; 
and  his  eyes  flashed  almost  fearfully. 

"  Hurra  !"  cried  Biorn  in  wild  affright ;  "  Hurra  !  Death  and 
his  companion  are  let  loose !"  and  he  dashed  madly  out  of  the 
chamber,  and  down  the  steps.  The  loud  wild  notes  of  his  horn 
were  heard  summoning  his  retainers,  and  presently  afterwards 
the  clatter  of  horses'  feet  on  the  frozen  court-yard  gave  token 
of  their  departure. 

The  knights  retired,  silent  and  shuddering ;  while  the  chap- 
lain remained  alone  at  the  huge  stone  table,  engaged  in  earnest 
wayer. 


.CHAP.  1. J  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  117 


CHAPTER  II. 

After  some  time  had  elapsed,  the  good  Rolf  returned  with  slow 
and  soft  steps,  and  started  with  surprise  at  finiing  the  hall  de- 
serted. The  chamber  where  he  had  been  occupied  in  quieting* 
and  soothing  the  unhappy  child,  was  in  so  distant  a  pnrt  of  the 
castle  Jiat  he  had  heard  nothing  of  the  knight's  hasty  departure. 
The  chaplain  related  to  him  all  that  had  passed,  and  then  said : 
"  But  my  good  Rolf,  I  much  wish  to  ask  you  concerning  those 
strange  words,  with  which  you  seemed  to  lull  poor  Sintram  to 
rest.  They  sounded  like  sacred  words,  and  no  doubt  they  are, 
but  I  could  not  understand  them.  *  I  believe,  and  yet  I  cannot 
believe.' " 

"  Reverend  Sir,"  answered  Rolf,  "  I  remember  that  from  my 
earliest  years  no  history  in  the  Gospels  has  taken  such  hold  of 
me,  as  that  of  the  child  possessed  with  a  devil,  which  the  disciples 
were  not  able  to  cast  out ;  but  when  our  Saviour  came  down 
from  the  mountain  where  he  had  been  transfigured.  He  broke 
the  bonds  wherewith  the  evil  spirit  had  held  the  miserable  child 
bound.  I  always  felt  as  if  I  must  have  known  and  loved  that 
boy,  and  been  his  playfellow  in  his  happy  days :  and  when  I 
grew  older,  then  the  distress  of  the  father  on  account  of  his 
lunatic  son  laid  heavy  at  my  heart.  It  must  surely  have  all 
been  a  foreboding  of  the  wretched  state  of  our  young  lord,  whom 
I  love  as  if  he  were  my  own  child  ;  and  now  the  words  of  the  ^ 
weeping  father  in  the  Gospel  often  come  into  my  mind,  '  I  be- 
lieve, Lord,  help  Thou  mine  unbelief ;'  and  something  of  the 
sort  I  may  very  likely  have  repeated  to-day,  as  a  chant  or  a 
prayer.  Reverend  Father,  when  I  reflect  how  one  dreadful 
imprecation  of  the  father  has  kept  its  withering  hold  on  the  son, 
nil  seems  dark  before  me  ;  but,  God  be  praised !  faith  and  hope 
again  bring  light  into  my  mind." 


118 


SINTRAM, 


"  Good  Rolf,"  said  the  priest,  "  I  cannot  clearly  understand 
what  you  say  about  the  unhappy  Sintram  ;  for  I  do  not  know 
when  and  how  this  affliction  came  upon  him.  If  nc  oath  or 
solemn  promise  binds  you  to  secresy,  will  you  make  known  to 
me  all  that  is  connected  with  it." 

"  Most  willingly,"  replied  Rolf.  "I  have  long  desired  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  so  doing ;  but  you  have  been  almost 
always  separated  from  us.  I  dare  not  now  leave  the  sleeping 
boy  any  longer  alone,  and  to-morrow,  at  the  earliest  dawn,  I 
must  take  him  to  his  father.  Will  you  come  with  me  to  our 
poor  Sintram's  room  ?" 

The  chaplain  at  once  took  up  the  small  lamp  which  Rolf 
had  brought  with  him,  and  they  set  off  together  along  the 
vaulted  passage.  When  they  reached  the  distant  chamber, 
they  found  the  suffering  child  fast  asleep.  As  the  light  of  the 
lamp  fell  on  his  countenance,  it  showed  his  ashy  paleness. 
The  chaplain  stood  gazing  at  him  for  some  time,  and  at  length 
said 

Certainly  from  his  birth  his  features  were  always  sharp  and 
strongly-marked,  but  now  they  are  almost  fearfully  so  for  such 
a  child.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  the  strange  expression  they  give, 
I  cannot  help  having  a  kindly  feeling  towards  him,  whether  I 
will  or  not." 

"  Most  true,  dear  SIb,"  answered  Rolf  And  it  was  evident 
how  his  whole  heart  rejoiced  at  any  words  which  betokened  af- 
fection or  compassion  for  his  beloved  young  lord.  He  pro- 
ceeded to  place  the  lamp  where  its  light  could  not  disturb  the 
sleeping  child,  and  seating  himself  close  by  the  priest,  he  began 
to  speak  in  the  following  terms : 

During  that  Christmas-feast  of  which  my  lord  was  talking 
to  you,  he  and  his  followers  discoursed  much  concerning  the 
German  merchants,  and  the  Idlest  means  of  keeping  down  the 
increasing  pride  and  power  of  the  larger  trading-towns.  At 
length  Biorn  laid  his  impious  hand  on  the  golden  boar's  head, 
and  swore  to  put  to  death  without  mercy  every  German  trader 
whom  late,  in  what  way  soever,  might  bring  alive  into  bis 


CHAP.  II.J 


AND  Ills  COMPANIONS. 


119 


power.  The  gentle  Verena  turned  pale,  and  would  have  inter- 
posed— but  it  was  too  late,  the  fearful  word  was  uttered.  And 
immediately  afterwards,  as  though  the  great  Enemy  of  souls 
were  determined  at  once  to  secure  with  fresh  bonds  the  wretched 
being  who  was  thus  devoted  to  him,  a  warder  came  into  the 
hall  to  announce  that  two  citizens  of  a  trading-town  in  Ger- 
many, an  old  man  and  his  son,  had  been  shipwrecked  on  this 
coast,  and  were  now  without  the  gates,  asking  hospitality  of  the 
^ord  of  the  castle.  The  knight  could  not  refrain  from  shudder- 
ing ;  but  he  thought  himself  bound  by  his  rash  vow,  and  by 
that  accursed  remnant  of  heathenism.  We,  his  retainers,  were 
commanded  to  assemble  in  the  castle-yard^  armed  with  sharp 
spears,  which  were  to  be  hurled  at  the  defenceless  strangers  at 
the  first  signal  made  to  us.  For  the  first,  and  I  trust  the 
last  time  in  my  life,  I  refused  to  obey  the  commands  of  my 
lord  ;  my  refusal  was  uttered  in  a  loud  voice,  and  with  the 
firmest  determination.  The  Almighty,  who  alone  knows  whom 
He  will  accept,  and  whom  He  will  reject,  gave  me  at  that  mo- 
ment the  strength  and  resolution  I  needed.  And  Biorn  might 
perceive  whence  the  refusal  of  his  faithful  old  servant  arose,  and 
that  it  was  worthy  of  respect.  .  He  said  to  me,  half  in  anger 
and  half  in  scorn :  *  Go  up  to  my  wife's  apartments :  her  at- 
tendants are  running  to  and  fro,  perhaps  she  is  ill.  Go  up, 
Rolf  the  Good,  and  remain  with  the  women,  who  seem  the  fittest 
company  for  you.'  I  thought  to  myself,  '  Jest  on ;'  but  I  went 
silently  the  way  that  he  had  pointed  out  to  me.  On  the  stairs 
I  was  met  by  two  strange  and  very  awful-looking  beings,  whom 
I  had  never  seen  before ;  and  I  am  still  at  a  loss  to  think  how 
they  got  into  the  castle.  One  of  them  was  a  great,  tall  man, 
frightfully  pallid  and  thin ;  the  other  was  a  dwarf-like  man, 
with  a  most  hideous  countenance  and  features.  Indeed,  when 
I  collected  my  thoughts  and  looked  carefully  at  him,  it  appeared 
to  me  " 

Low  meanings,  and  convulsive  movements  of  the  boy,  here 
interrupted  the  narrative.  Rolf  and  the  chaplain  hastened  to 
his  bed-side,  and  perceived  that  his  countenance  wore  an  ex- 


120 


SINTRAM, 


""chap,  II. 


pression  of  fearful  agony,  and  that  he  was  struggling  in  vain  to 
open  his  eyes.  The  priest  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross  over  him, 
and  immediately  peace  seemed  to  be  restored,  and  his  sleep 
again  became  calm  and  quiet :  they  both  returned  softly  to  their 
seats. 

"  You  see,"  said  Rolf,  "  that  it  will  not  do  to  attempt  a  more 
precise  description  of  those  two  awful  beings.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  they  went  doAvn  into  the  court-yard,  and  that  I  proceeded 
to  my  lady's  apartments.  I  found  the  gentle  Verena  almost 
fainting  with  terror  and  overwhelming  anxiety,  and  I  hastened 
to  restore  her  with  some  of  those  remedies  which  the  knowledge 
God  has  given  me  of  the  healing  virtues  of  many  herbs  and 
minerals  enabled  me  to  apply.  But  scarcely  had  she  recovered 
her  senses,  when,  with  that  air  of  calm  resolve  which  you  know 
belongs  to  her,  she  desired  me  to  conduct  her  down  to  the  court- 
yard, saying  that  she  must  either  put  a  stop  to  the  fearful  doings 
of  this  night,  or  herself  fall  a  sacrifice.  Our  way  took  us  by 
the  little  bed  of  the  sleeping  Sintram.  Alas !  I  cannot  keep 
from  tears  when  I  think  how  evenly  his  gentle  breath  then 
came  and  went,  and  how  sweetly  he  smiled  in  his  peaceful 
slumbers." 

The  old  man  put  his  hands  to  his  eyes,  and  wept  bitterly ; 
but  soon  he  resumed  his  sad  story.  "  As  we  approached  the 
lowest  window  of  the  staircase,  we  could  hear  distinctly,  the 
voice  of  the  elder  merchant,  and  on  looking  out,  the  light  of  the 
torches  shewed  me  his  noble  features,  as  well  as  the  bright 
youthful  countenance  of  hi^  son.  "  I  take  Almighty  God  to 
witness,'  cried  he,  '  that  >  had  no  evil  thought  against  this 
house!  But  surely  I  musi  have  fallen  unawares  amongst 
heathens ;  it  cannot  be  that  I  am  in  a  Christian  knight's  castle : 
and  if  you  are  indeed  heathens,  then  kill  us  at  once.  And  you, 
my  beloved  son,  be  patient  and  of  good  courage ;  in  heaven  we 
shall  learn  why  it  was  ordained  that  we  should  meet  our  fate 
here  without  one  chance  of  escape.'  I  thought  I  could  sec 
those  two  fearful  ones  amidst  the  throng  of  armed  retainers 
The  pale  one  had  a  huge  curved  sword  in  his  hand,  the  little 


CHAP. 


AND  HIS  COMPA.NTONS. 


121 


one  held  a  spear  notched  in  a  strange  fashion.  Verena  tore 
open  the  window,  and  the  silvery  tones  of  her  voice  were  heard 
above  the  storm  of  that  wild  night,  as  she  cried  out — '  My  dear- 
est lord  and  husband,  for  the  sake  of  your  only  child,  have  pity 
on  those  harmless  men !  Save  them  from  a  bloody  death,  and 
resist  the  temptation  of  the -Evil  Spirit.'  The  knight  answered 
in  his  fierce  wrath — but  I  cannot  repeat  his  words.  He  staked 
his  child  on  the  desperate  cast ;  he  called  death  and  the  devil 
to  see  that  he  kept  his  word : — but,  hush !  the  boy  is  again 
moaning.  Let  me  bring  the  dark  tale  quickly  to  a  close.  Biorn 
conmianded  his  followers  to  strike,  casting  on  them  those  fierce 
looks  which  have  gained  him  the  title  of  Biorn  of  the  Fiery 
Eyes ;  while  at  the  same  time  the  two  frightful  strangers  seemed 
to  bestir  themselves  in  the  crowd  with  more  activity  than  before. 
Then  Verena  called  out,  in  the  extremity  of  her  anguish,  '  Help, 
O  God,  my  Saviour  !'  Those  two  dreadful  figures  disappeared, 
and  the  knight  and  his  re'tainers,  as  if  seized  with  blindness, 
rushed  wildly  one  against  ^^e  other,  but  without  doing  injury 
to  themselves,  or  y.el  succeeding  in  striking  the  merchants,  Avho 
had  so  nearly  fallen  victims  to  Biorn's  savage  cruelty.  They 
bowed  reverently  towards  Verena,  and  with  calm  thanksgivings 
departed  through  the  castle  gates,  which  at  that  moment  had 
been  burst  open  by  a  violent  gust  of  wind,  and  now  gave  a  free 
passage  to  any  who  would  go  forth.  The  lady  and  I  were  yet 
standing  bewildered  on  the  stairs,  when  I  fancied  I  saw  the  two 
fearful  forms  glide  close  by  me,  but  there  was  such  a  cloudy, 
unreal  look  about  them,  that  I  doubted,  till  Verena  called  to 
me :  '  Rolf,  did  you  see  a  tall  pale  man,  and  a  little  hideous 
one  w4th  him,  pass  just  now  up  the  staircase  V  I  flew  after 
them  ;  but,  alas  !  when  I  reached  the  poor  boy's  room,  I  found 
him  already  in  the  same  state  in  which  you  saw  him  a  few 
hours  ago.  Ever  since,  the  attack  has  come  on  him  regularly 
at  this  time,  and  he  is  in  all  respects  fearfully  changed.  The 
lady  of  the  castle  did  not  fail  to  discern  the  avenging  hand  of 
Heaven  in  this  calamity  ;  and  as  the  knight,  her  husband,  in- 
stead of  shewing  signs  of  repentance,  added  each  day  to  the 


122 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  n. 


number  of  his  -vrlolent  deeds,  she  resolved  to  take  refuge  in  a 
cloister  ;  and  there,  by  unremitting  prayer,  to  obtain  mercy  in 
time  and  eternity  for  herself  and  her  unhappy  child." 

Rolf  was  silent ;  and  the  chaplain  said,  after  some  moments' 
reflection  :  "  I  now  understand  why,  six  years  ago,  Biorn  con- 
fessed his  guilt  to  me  in  general  terms,  and  consented  that  his 
wife  should  take  the  veil.  Some  faint  compunction  must  then 
have  stirred  within  him,  and  perhaps  the  traces  of  it  may  yet 
exist.  Anyhow  it  was  impossible  that  so  tender  a  flower  as 
Verena  could  remain  longer  in  such  rough  keeping.  But  who 
is  there  now  to  watch  over  and  protect  our  poor  Sintram  ?" 

"  The  prayers  of  his  mother  are  his  safeguard,"  answered 
Rolf.  "  Reverend  Sir,  when  the-  first  dawn  of  day  appears,  as  it 
does  now,  and  when  the  morning  breeze  plays  lightly  around, 
they  always  bring  to  my  mind  the  soft-beaming  eyes  of  my 
lady,  and  I  again  seem  to  hear  the  sweet  tones  of  her  voice. 
The  holy  Verena  is,  next  to  God,  our  chief  aid." 

"  And  let  us  add  our  devout  supplications  to  the  Lord,"  said 
the  chaplain :  and  he  and  Rolf  knelt  in  silent  and  earnest  pray- 
er by  the  bed  of  the  pale  sufferer,  who  soon  began  to  smile  aa 
he  lay  still  dreaming. 


CHAP  nr. 


AND  IIIS  COMPANIONS.  123 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  rays  of  the  sun  shining  brightly  into  the  room,  awoke  Sin- 
tram,  and  raising  himself  up,  he  looked  angrily  at  the  chap- 
lain, and  said :  "  So  there  is  a  priest  in  the  castle !  And  yet 
that  accursed  dream. continues  to  torment  me  even  in  his  very 
presence !    A  pretty  sort  of  Priest  he  must  be !" 

"  My  child,"  answered  the  chaplain  in  the  mildest  tone,  "  I 
have  prayed  for  you  most  fervently,  and  I  shall  never  cease 
doing  so — but  God  alone  is  Almighty." 

"  You  speak  very  impertinently  to  the  son  of  the  great 
knight,  Biorn,"  cried  Sintram.  "  '  My  child !'  indeed !  If  those 
horrible  dreams  had  not  been  again  haunting  me,  you  would 
make  me  laugh  heartily." 

"  My  young  lord,"  said  the  chaplain,  "  I  am  by  no  means 
surprised  that  you  should  not  recognize  me,  for  i<i  truth 
neither  should  I  know  you  again."  And  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears  as  he  spoke. 

The  good  Rolf  looked  sorrowfully  in  the  boy's  face,  saying, 
"  Ah !  my  dear  young  master,  you  are  so  much  better  than  you 
would  make  people  believe.  Why  did  you  speak  in  that  way  1 
Your  memory  is  so  good,  that  you  must  surely  recollect  your 
kind  old  friend  the  chaplain,  who  used  formerly  to  be  constant- 
ly at  the  castle,  and  to  bring  you  so  many  presents — bright  co- 
loured pictures  of  saints,  and  beautiful  songs  ?" 

"  I  know  all  that  very  well,"  replied  Sintram  thoughtfully, 
"  My  blessed  mother  was  alive  in  those  days." 

"  Our  gracious  lady  is  still  living,  God  be  praised  !"  said 
the  good  Rolf 

"  But  she  does  not  live  for  us,  poor  sick  creatures  that  we 
are  !•'  cried  Sintram.  "  And  why  will  you  not  call  her  bless- 
ed?   Surely  she  knows  nothing  about  my  dreams?" 


124 


SINTRAM 


[chap,  hi 


"  Yes,  she  does  know  of  them,"  said  the  chaplain,  "  and  she 
prays  to  God  on  your  behalf.  But  take  heed,  and  restrain  that 
wild,  haughty  temper  of  your's.  It  might,  indeed,  come  to  pass 
that  she  no  longer  knew  anything  about  your  dreams,  and  that 
would  be  if  you  were  to  die  ;  and  then  the  holy  angels  would 
also  cease  to  know  any  thing  of  you." 

Sintram  fell  back  on  his  bed  as  if  thunderstruck :  and  Rolf 
said  with  a  gentle  sigh,  "  You  should  not  speak  so  severely  to 
my  poor  sick  child.  Reverend  Sir." 

The  boy  again  sat  up,  and  with  streaming  eyes  he  turned  to- 
wards the  chaplain,  saying  in  a  kind  and  gentle  tone :  "  Let 
him  do  as  he  pleases,  you  good  tender-hearted  Rolf;  he  knows 
very  well  what  he  is  about.  Would  you  reprove  him  if  I  were 
slipping  down  a  rocky  precipice,  and  he  were  to  catch  me 
roughly  by  the  hair  of  my  head  in  order  to  save  me  ?" 

The  priest  looked  at  him  with  emotion,  and  was  about  to 
give  utterance  to  some  kind  expression,  when  Sintram  suddenly 
sprang  off  the  bed  and  asked  after  his  father.  As  soon  as  he 
heard  of  the  knight's  departure,  he  would  not  remain  another 
hour  in  the  castle  ;  and  when  both  the  chaplain  and  the  old 
esquire  expressed  their  fears  lest  a  rapid  journey  should  be 
hurtful  to  him  before  he  had  shaken  off  the  effects  of  his  late  at- 
tack, he  said  to  them :  "  Believe  me.  Reverend  Sir,  and  good 
old  Rolf,  if  I  were  not  subject  to  these  hideous  di'eams,  there 
would  not  be  a  bolder  youth  in  the  whole  world  ;  and  even  as 
it  is,  I  am  not  so  far  behind  the  very  best.  Besides,  till  an- 
other year  has  passed,  there  is  no  fear  of  my  dreams  again 
troubling  me," 

Rolf  obeyed  a  somewhat  imperious  sign  from  his  young  mas- 
ter, and  went  to  prepare  the  horses.  No  sooner  were  they 
brought  out,  than  the  boy  threw  himself  unto  his  saddle,  and 
taking  a  courteous  leave  of  the  chaplain,  he  dashed  along  the 
frozen  valley  that  lay  between  the  snow-clad  mountains.  He 
had  not  ridden  far,  in  company  with  his  old  attendant,  when  ho 
heard  a  strange  indistinct  sound  proceeding  from  a  neighbour 
ing  cleft  in  the  ro:k  •  it  was  partly  like  the  clapper  of  a  smal 


o.iAP.  iii.J  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  1J5 


miM,  but  mingled  with  that  were  hollow  groans,  and  other 
tones  of  distress.  They  directed  their  horses  towards  the  place 
whence  the  sounds  came,  and  a  wonderful  sight  presented  itself 
before  them. 

A  tall  man,  deadly  pale,  in  a  pilgrim's  garb,  was  striving 
with  violent  though  unsuccessful  efforts,  to  work  his  way  out  of 
the  snow,  and  to  get  up  the  mountain  ;  and  at  each  exertion 
which  he  made,  a  quantity  of  bones,  which  were  hanging 
loosely  all  about  his  garments,  rattled  one  against  the  other, 
and  caused  the  mysterious  sound  already  mentioned.  Rolf, 
much  terrified,  crossed  himself,  while  the  bold  Sintram  called 
out  to  the  stranger,  "  What  art  thou  doing  there  ?  Give  an 
account  of  thy  solitary  labours." 

"  I  live  in  death,"  replied  that  other  one  vdth  a  fearful  grin. 

"  Whose  are  those  bones  which  hang  about  thee  ?" 

"  They  are  relics,  young  Sir." 

"  Art  thou  a  pilgrim  ?" 

"  I  have  no  rest,  no  quiet ;  I  go  up  and  down  the  land." 
"  Thou  must  not  perish  here  in  the  snow  before  my  eyes." 
«  That  I  will  not." 

"  Thou  must  come  up  and  sit  on  my  horse." 
«  That  I  will  do." 

And  all  at  once  he  started  up  out  of  the  snow  with  surprising 
strength  and  agility,  and  sprang  on  the  horse  behind  Sintram, 
clasping  him  tight  in  his  long  arms.  The  animal,  startled  by 
the  rattling  of  the  bones,  and  as  if  seized  with  madness,  rushed 
away  through  the  most  trackless  passes.  The  boy  soon  found 
himself  alone  with  his  strange  companion  ;  for  Rolf,  breathless 
with  fear,  spurred  on  his  horse  in  vain,  and  remained  far  be- 
hind them.  After  slipping  down  the  steep  mountain  side,  which 
was  entirely  covered  with  snow,  into  a  narrow  defile,  the  horse 
seemed  somewhat  to  slacken  his  pace,  but  yet  continued  to 
snort  and  foam  as  before,  and  could  not  be  controlled.  Still, 
his  headlong  course  being  now  changed  into  a  rough  irregular 
trot,  Sintram  was  able  to  breathe  more  freely,  and  to  begin  the 
following  discourse  with  his  unknown  companion. 


126 


SINTRAM, 


[cHaP.  111. 


"  Draw  thy  garment  closer  round  thee,  thou  pale  man  :  the 
bones  will  then  rattle  less,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  curb  my 
horse." 

"  It  would  be  of  no  avail,  boy ;  it  would  be  of  no  avail.  The 
bones  must  rattle." 

D  :  not  clasp  me  so  tight  with  thy  long  arms,  they  are  so 
cold." 

"  It  cannot  be  helped,  boy ;  it  cannot  be  helped.  Be  con- 
tent. For  my  long  cold  arms  are  not  pressing  yet  on  thy 
heart." 

"  Do  not  breathe  on  me  so  with  thy  icy  breath.  All  my 
strength  is  departing." 

"  I  must  breathe,  boy  ;  I  must  breathe.  But  do  not  com- 
plain.   I  am  not  blowing  thee  away." 

The  strange  dialogue  here  came  to  an  end ;  for  to  Sintram's 
surprise,  he  found  himself  on  an  open  plain,  over  which  the  sun 
was  shining  brightly,  and  at  no  great  distance  before  him  he 
descried  his  father's  castle.  While  he  was  doubting  as  to 
whether  he  might  invite  the  unearthly  pilgrim  to  rest  there,  this 
one  put  an  end  to  his  hesitation  by  throwing  himself  suddenly 
off  the  horse,  whose  wild  course  was  checked  by  the  shock. 
Raising  his  fore-finger,  he  said  to  the  boy : 

"  I  know  old  Biorn  of  the  Fiery  Eyes  well :  perhaps  but  too 
well.  Commend  me  to  him.  It  will  not  need  to  tell  him  my 
n-amo  ;  he  will  recognize  me  by  the  description  you  can  give  of 
me."  So  saying,  the  ghastly  stranger  turned  aside  into  a  thick 
firwood,  and  disappeared  amongst  the  tangled  branches. 

Slowly  and  thoughtfully  Sintram  rode  on  towards  his  father's 
castle,  his  horse  being  now  again  quiet  and  almost  exhausted. 
He  scarcely  knew  how  much  he  ought  to  relate  of  his  wonder- 
ful adventure,  and  he  also  felt  oppressed  with  anxiety  for  the 
good  Rolf,  who  had  remained  so  far  behind.  He  found  himself 
at  the  castle-gate  sooner  than  he  had  expected  ;  the  drawbridge 
was  lowered,  the  doors  were  thrown  open ;  an  attendant  led  the 
youth  into  the  great  hall,  where  Biorn  was  sitting  all  alone  at 
a  huge  table,  with  many  flagons  and  glasses  before  him,  and 


CHAP.  III.]  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  la? 

suits  of  armour  ranged  on  either  side  of  him.    It  was  his  daily 
custom,  by  way  of  company,  to  have  the  armour  of  his  ances- 
tors, with  closed  vizors,  placed  all  round  the  table  at  which  ho 
sat.    The  father  and  son  began  conversing  as  follows : 
"  Where  is  Rolf?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  father :  I  lost  sight  of  him  in  the  mo un 
tains." 

"  I  will  have  Rolf  shot,  if  he  cannot  take  better  care  than  that 
of  my  only  child." 

"  Then,  father,  you  will  have  your  only  child  shot  at  the 
same  time,  for  without  Rolf  I  cannot  live ;  and  if  even  one  sin- 
gle dart  is  aimed  at  him,  I  will  be  there  to  receive  it,  and  to 
shield  his  true  and  faithful  heart." 

"  Is  it  so  ? — Then  Rolf  shall  not  be  shot,  but  he  shall  be 
driven  from  the  castle." 

"  In  that  case,  father,  you  will  see  me  go  away  also ;  and 
I  will  give  myself  up  to  serve  him  in  forests,  in  mountains,  in 
caves." 

"  Is  it  so  ? — Well,  then,  Rolf  must  remain  here." 
"  That  is  just  what  I  think,  father." 
"  Were  you  riding  quite  alone  ?" 

"  No,  father ;  but  with  a  strange  pilgrim :  he  said  that  he 
knew  you  very  well — perhaps,  too  well."  And  thereupon  Sin- 
tram  began  to  relate  and  to  describe  all  that  had  passed  with 
the  pale  man. 

"  I  know  him  also  very  weli,"  said  Biorn.  "  He  is  half 
crazed  and  half-wise,  as  we  sometimes  are  astonished  at  seeing 
that  people  can  be.  But  do  you,  my  boy,  go  to  rest  after  your 
wild  journey.  I  give  you  my  word  that  Rolf  shall  be  kindly 
received  if  he  arrives  here ;  and  that  if  he  does  not  come  soon 
he  shall  be  sought  for  in  the  mountains." 

"  I  trust  to  your  word,  father."  said  Sintram,  with  a  mijcture 
of  pride  and  humility  in  his  tone ;  and  he  proceeded  to  obey 
the  command  of  the  grim  lord  of  the  castle. 


128 


SINTRAM, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  was  getting  towards  evening  when  Sintram  awoke.  He  saw 
the  good  Rolf  sitting  at  his  bedside,  and  looked  up  in  the  old 
man's  kind  face  with  a  smile  of  unusual  innocent  brightness. 
But  soon  again  his  dark  brows  were  knii^  and  he  asked  :  "  Hoav 
did  my  father  receive  you,  Rolf?  Did  he  say  a  harsh  word  to 
you 

"  No,  my  dear  young  lord,  he  did  not — indeed,  he  did  not 
speak  to  me  at  all.  At  first  he  looked  very  wrathful ;  but  he 
controlled  himself,  and  ordered  a  servant  to  bring  me  food  and 
wine  to  refresh  me,  and  afterwards  to  take  me  to  your  room.'' 

"  He  might  have  kept  his  word  better.  But  he  is  my  father, 
and  I  must  not  judge  him  too  severely.  I  wiD  now  go  down  to 
the  evening  meal."  So  saying,  he  sprang  up  and  threw  on 
his  furred  mantle.  But  Rolf  stopped  him,  and  said  in  a  tone 
of  entreaty :  "  My  dear  young  master,  you  would  do  better  to 
take  your  meal  to-day  alone  here  in  your  own  apartment.  For 
there  is  a  guest  with  your  father,  in  whose  company  I  should 
be  very  sorry  to  see  you.  If  you  will  remain  here  I  will  en^ 
tertain  you  with  pleasant  tales  and  songs." 

"  There  is  nothing  in  th.e  world  which  I  should  like  better, 
dear  Rolf,'.'  answered  Sintram,  "  but  it  does  not  befit  m.e  to 
shun  the  company  of  any  man.  Tell  me,  whom  should  I  find 
with  my  father  ?" 

"  Alas  !"  said  the  old  man,  "  you  have  already  found  him  in 
the  mountain.  Formerly,  when  I  used  to  ride  about  the  coun- 
try with  Biorn,  we  often  met  with  him,  but  I  was  forbidden  to 
tell  you  any  thing  about  him  ;  and  this  is  the  first  time  that  he 
has  ever  come  to  the  castle." 

"  Oh  !  the  crazy  pilgrim !"  replied  Sintram ;  and  he  stood 
some  moments  buried  in  thought,  and  apparently  weighing  the 


CHAP.  IV.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


129 


whole  matter  in  his  mind.  At  last  rousing  himself  he  said  : 
"  Dear  old  friend,  I  would  most  willingly  stay  here  with  you 
this  evening  and  listen  to  your  stories  and  songs,  and  all  the 
pilgrims  in  the  world  should  not  make  me  leave  this  quiet  room. 
But  one  thing  must  be  considered.  I  feel  a  kind  of  dread  of 
that  pale,  tall  man,  and  by  such  fears  no  true  knight's  son  car 
ever  suffer  himself  to  be  overcome.  So  do  not  be  angry,  dear 
Rolf,  if  I  determine  to  go  and  look  that  strange  Palmer  in  the 
face."  And  he  shut  the  door  of  the  chamber  behind  him,  and 
with  firm  and  echoing  steps  proceeded  to  the  hall. 

The  pilgrim  and  the  knight  w^ere  sitting  opposite  to  each 
other  at  the  great  table,  on  which  many  lights  were  burning ; 
and  it  was  fearful,  amongst  all  the  lifeless  armour,  to  see  those 
two  tall  grim  men  move,  and  eat,  and  drink.  As  the  pilgrim 
looked  up  on  the  boy's  entrance,  Biorn  said :  "  You  know  him 
already:  he  is  my  only  child,  and  your  fellow-traveller  this 
morning."  The  Palmer  fixed  an  earnest  look  on  Sintram,  and 
answered,  shaking  his  head :  "  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean," 
Then  the  boy  burst  forth  impatiently :  "  It  must  be  confessed 
that  you  deal  very  unfairly  by  us  !  You  say  that  you  know  my 
father  but  too  well,  and  now  it  appears  that  you  do  not  know 
me  at  all.  Who  allowed  you  to  ride  on  his  horse,  and  in  return 
had  his  good  steed  driven  almost  wild?    Answer  if  you  can!" 

Biorn  put  on  a  somewhat  displeased  look,  but  was  in  truth 
delighted  at  any  such  outbreak  of  his  son's  unruly  temper; 
while  the  pilgrim  shuddered  as  if  terrified  and  overcome  by 
some  secret  irresistible  power.  At  length  with  a  trembling 
voice  he  said  these  words :  "  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  young  lord, 
you  are  surely  quite  right ;  you  are  perfectly  right  in  every 
thing  which  you  may  please  to  assert." 

Then  the  lord  of  the  castle  laughed  aloud,  and  said:  "  Why, 
you  strange  pilgrim,  what  is  become  of  all  your  wonderfully 
fine  speeches  and  warnings  now?  Has  the  boy  all  at  once 
struck  you  dumb  and  powerless  ?  Beware,  you  prophet  mes' 
senger,  beware  !"  But  the  Palmer  cast  a  fearful  look  on  Biorn, 
which  seemed  to  quench  the  light  of  his  fiery  eyes,  and  said  in 
10 


130 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  IV. 


thundering  accents :  "  Between  me  and  thee,  old  man,  the  case 
stands  quite  otherwise.  We  have  nothing  to  reproach  each 
other  with.  And  now  suffer  me  to  sing  a  song  to  you  on  the 
lute."  He  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  took  down  from  the 
wall  an  old  worn  out  lute  which  was  hanging  there,  and  hav- 
ing with  surprising  skill  and  rapidity  put  it  in  a  state  fk  to  he 
used,  he  struck  some  chords,  and  the  low  melancholy  tones  of  the 
instrument  seemed  well  adapted  to  the  words  he  hegan  to  sing  • 

«  The  flow'ret  was  mine  own,  mine  own, 
But  I  have  lost  its  fragrance  rare. 
And  knightly  name  and  freedom  fair, 
Thro'  sin,  thro'  sin  alone. 

The  flow'ret  was  thine  own,  thine  own, 
Why  cast  away  what  thou  didst  win  ? 
Thou  knight  no  more,  but  slave  of  sin, 
Thou'rt  fearfully  alone !" 

"  Have  a  care !"  shouted  he  at  the  close  in  a  pealing  voice, 
as  he  pulled  the  strings  with  such  tremendous  force  that  they 
all  broke,  and  a  cloud  of  dust  rose  from  the  instrument,  which 
spread  round  him  like  a  mist.  Sintram  had  been  watching 
him  narrowly  whilst  he  was  singing,  and  more  and  more  did  he 
feel  convinced  that  it  was  impossible  that  this  man  and  his  fel- 
low-traveller of  the  morning  could  be  one  and  the  same  person. 
Every  doubt  was  removed  when  the  stranger  again  looked 
round  at  him  with  the  same  timid,  anxious  air,  and  with  many 
excuses  and  low  reverences  replaced  the  lute  in  its  former  posi- 
tion, and  then  ran  out  of  the  hall  as  if  bewildered  with  terror; 
his  manner  forming  a  strange  contrast  with  the  proud  and  stately 
deportment  which  he  had  assumed  towards  Biorn. 

The  eyes  of  the  boy  were  now  directed  to  his  father,  and  he 
perceived  that  he  had  sunk  back  senseless  in  his  seat,  as  though 
he  had  been  struck  by  a  sudden  blow.  Sintram's  cries  sum- 
moned Rolf  and  other  attendants,  but  it  was  only  by  their  united 
exertions  that  they  succeeded  in  restoring  their  lord  to  anima- 
tion ;  his  looks  were  still  wild  and  disordered,  but  he  suffered 
himself  to  be  taken  to  i«st  without  making  any  opposition. 


cjiAf.  v]  AND  lUti  COM  PAN  ION 131 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  LONG  \ilness  followed  this  sudden  attack,  and  during  the 
course  of  it,  the  stout  old  knight,  in  the  midst  of  his  delirious 
ravings,  did  not  cease  to  affirm  confidently  that  he  must  and 
should  recover  at  last.  He  would  laugh  proudly  when  his 
fever  fits  came  on,  and  rebuke  them  for  daring  to  attack  him  so 
needlessly.  Then  he  would  murmur  to  himself:  "  That  was 
not  the  right  one  yet ;  there  must  still  be  another  one  out  in  the 
cold  mountains." 

At  such  expressions  Sintram  involuntarily  shuddered ;  they 
seemed  to  confirm  his  idea  that  the  being  who  had  ridden  with 
him,  and  he  who  had  sat  at  table  in  the  castle,  were  two  quite 
distinct  persons :  and  he  knew  not  why,  but  this  thought  was 
an  inexpressibly  awful  one  to  him. 

Biorn  recovered,  and  appeared  to  have  entirely  forgotten  his 
adventure  with  the  Palmer.  He  hunted  in  the  mountains,  he 
carried  on  his  usual  wild  warfare  with  his  neighbours,  and 
Sintram  became  his  almost  constant  companion  ;  whereby  each 
year  the  youth  acquired  a  fearful  increase  of  strength  of  body, 
with  an  equal  fierceness  of  spirit.  Every  one  trembled  at  the 
sight  of  his  sharp  pallid  features,  his  dark  rolling  eyes,  his  tall, 
muscular,  and  somewhat  lean  form, — and  yet  no  one  hated  him, 
not  even  those  whom  he  distressed  or  injured  to  gratify  his 
wildest  humours.  This  might  arise  in  part  out  of  regard  to  old 
Rolf,  who  seldom  left  him  for  long,  and  who  always  held  a 
softening  influence  over  him ;  but  also  many  of  those  who  had 
known  the  Lady  Verena  before  she  retired  from  the  world, 
affirmed  that  a  faint  reflection  of  the  heavenly  expression  which 
had  lighted  up  her  features,  could  often  be  ti'aced  in  those  of 
her  son,  however  unKke  they  might  be  in  form, — and  that  by 
this  their  hearts  were  won, 


132  SINTRAM, 

Once,  just  at  the  beginning  of  spring,  Biorn  and  his  son  were 
hunting  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  sea  coast,  over  a  tract 
of  country  which  did  not  belong  to  them ;  drawn  thither  less  by 
the  love  of  sport  than  by  the  wish  of  bidding  defiance  to  a  chief- 
tain whom  they  detested,  and  thus  exciting  a  feud.  At  that 
season  of  the  year,  when  his  winter  dreams  had  just  passed  off, 
Sintram  was  always  unusually  fierce,  and  disposed  for  warlike 
adventures, — and  this  day  he  was  enraged  at  the  chieftain  for 
not  coming  forth  from  his  castle  to  attack  the  intruders  with 
armed  force,  and  he  cursed  the  cowardly  patience  and  love  of 
peace  whieL  kept  his  enemy  thus  quiet.  Just  then  one  of  his 
wild  companions  rushed  towards  him,  shouting  joyfully  :  "  Be 
content,  my  dear  young  lord !  I  will  wager  that  all  is  coming 
about  as  we  and  you  wish  ;  for  as  I  was  pursuing  a  wounded 
deer  down  to  the  sea-shore,  I  perceived  a  sail  in  sight,  and  a 
vessel  filkd  with  armed  men  making  for  the  shore.  Doubtless 
your  enemy  is  intending  to  take  you  by  surprise  by  coming  in 
this  way." 

Sintram,  full  of  joy  at  the  news,  called  his  followers  together 
as  secretly  as  possible,  being  resolved  this  time  to  take  on  him- 
self alone  the  whole  direction  of  the  engagement  which  was 
likely  to  follow ;  and  then  to  rejoin  his  father,  and  astonish  him 
with  the  sight  of  captured  foes,  and  other  tokens  of  victory. 

The  hunters,  thoroughly  acquainted  with  every  cliff  and  rock, 
concealed  themselves  near  the  landing-place,  and  soon  the  strange 
vessel  was  seen  approaching  nearer  and  nearer,  till  at  length  it 
came  to  anchor,  and  its  crew  began  to  disembark  in  unsuspicious 
security.  At  the  head  of  them  appeared  a  knight  of  high  de- 
gree, in  polished  steel  armour  richly  inlaid  with  gold.  His  head 
was  bare,  for  he  carried  his  golden  helmet  in  his  left  hand,  and 
as  he  looked  around  him  with  the  air  of  one  accustomed  to  com- 
mand, none  could  fail  to  admire  his  noble  countenance  shaded 
by  dark  brown  locks,  and  animated  by  the  bright  smile  which 
played  around  his  well-shaped  mouth. 

A  feeling  came  across  Sintram  that  he  must  have  seen  this 
knight  somewhere  in  by-gone  times,  and  he  stood  motionless  for 


CHAP,  v.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


133 


a  few  moments.  But  suddenly  he  raised  his  hand,  to  make  the 
preconcerted  signal  of  attack.  In  vain  did  the  good  Rolf,  who 
had  just  succeeded  in  getting  up  to  him,  whisper  in  his  ear  that 
these  could  not  be  the  foes  whom  he  had  taken  them  for,  but 
that  they  were  entire  strangers,  and  evidently  of  no  mean  race. 
"  Let  them  be  who  they  may,"  replied  the  wild  youth,  "  they 
have  been  the  cause  of  my  coming  here,  and  they  shall  pay 
dearly  for  having  so  deceived  me.  Say  not  another  word,  if 
you  value  your  life."  And  immediately  he  gave  the  signal ; 
a  thick  shower  of  javelins  followed,  and  the  Norwegian  war- 
riors rushed  forth  with  flashing  swords.  They  soon  found  that 
they  had  to  do  with  adversaries  as  brave,  or  braver,  than  they 
could  have  desired.  More  fell  on  the  side  of  those  who  made 
than  of  those  who  received  the  assault,  and  the  strangers  ap- 
peared to  have  a  surprising  knowledge  of  the  mode  of  fighting 
which  belonged  to  those  northern  regions.  The  knight  clad  in 
steel  armour  had  not  had  time  to  put  on  his  helmet,  but  it  seemed 
as  if  he  in  no-wise  needed  such  protection,  for  his  good  sword 
afforded  him  sufficient  defence  even  against  the  spears  and 
darts  which  were  incessantly  hurled  at  him,  as  with  rapid  skill 
he  received  them  on  the  shining  blade,  and  dashed  them  far 
away  shivered  into  fragments. 

Sintram  could  not  at  the  fii'st  onset  penetrate  to  where  this 
valiant  chief  was  standing,  as  all  his  followers,  eager  after 
such  a  noble  prey,  thronged  closely  round  him  ;  but  now  the 
way  was  cleared  enough  for  him  to  spring  towards  the  brave 
stranger,  shouting  a  war  cry,  and  brandishing  his  sword  above 
his  head.  "  Gabrielle  !"  cried  the  knight,  as  he  dexterously 
parried  the  heavy  blow  which  was  descending,  and  with  one 
powerful  sword-thrust  he  laid  his  youthful  antagonist  prostrate 
on  the  ground,  then  placing  his  knee  on  Sintram's  breast,  he 
drew  forth  a  dagger  and  held  it  at  his  throat.  The  men-at-arms 
ranged  themselves  around — Sintram  felt  that  no  hope  remained 
for  him.  He  determined  to  die  as  it  became  a  bold  warrior, 
and  without  giving  one  sign  of  emotion,  he  looked  on  the  fatal 
weapon  with  a  steady  gaze. 


134 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  v. 


As  he  lay  with  his  eyes  cast  upwards,  he  fancied  that  he  saw 
an  apparition  of  a  lovely  female  form  in  a  bright  attire  of  blue 
and  gold.  "  Our  ancestors  told  truly  of  the  Valkyrias,"  mur- 
mured he.    "  Strike  then,  thou  unknown  conqueror." 

But  with  this  the  knight  did  not  comply,  neither  was  it  a 
Valkyria  who  had  so  suddenly  appeared,  but  the  beautiful  wife 
of  the  stranger,  who  having  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  vessel, 
had  thus  met  the  upraised  look  of  Sintram.  "  Folko,"  cried 
she,  in  the  softest  tone,  "  thou  knight  without  reproach  !  I 
know  that  thou  wilt  spare  a  vanquished  foe."  The  knight 
sprang  up,  and  with  courtly  grace  assisted  the  youth  to  rise, 
saying,  "  You  owe  your  life  and  liberty  to  the  noble  lady  of 
Montfau^on.  But  if  you  are  so  far  lost  to  all  sense  of  honour 
as  to  wish  to  resume  the  combat,  here  am  I — let  it  be  yours  to 
begin." 

Sintram  sank  on  his  knees  overwhelmed  with  shame  and 
remorse  ;  for  he  had  often  heard  speak  of  the  high  renown  of 
the  French  knight,  Folko  of  Montfaucon,  who  was  distantly 
allied  to  his  father's  house,  and  of  the  grace  and  beauty  of  his 
gentle  lady,  Gabrielle. 


CHAP.  VI.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


135 


CHAPTER  VL 

The  lord  of  Montfaugon  looked  with  astonishment  at  his  strange 
adversary ;  and  as  he  gazed  on  him,  tecollections  arose  in  his 
mind  of  that  northern  race  from  whom  he  was  descended,  and 
with  whom  he  had  always  maintained  friendly  relations.  His 
eye  fell  on  a  golden  bear's  claw,  with  which  Sintram's  cloak 
was  fastened,  and  the  sight  of  that  made  all  clear  to  him. 

"  Have  you  not,"  said  he,  "  a  valiant  and  far-famed  kinsman 
called  the  Sea-king  Arinbiorn,  whose  helmet  is  adorned  with 
golden  vulture  wings?  And  is  not  your  father  the  knight 
Biorn  ?  For  surely  the  bear's  claw  on  your  mantle  must  be 
the  cognizance  of  your  house."  Sintram  gave  a  sign  of  assent, 
but  his  deep  sense  of  shame  and  humiliation  did  not  allow  him 
to  speak. 

The  knight  of  Montfau9on  raised  him  from  the  ground,  and 
said  gravely,  yet  gently :  "  We  are  then  of  kin  the  one  to  the 
other ;  but  I  could  never  have  believed  that  any  one  of  your 
noble  house  would  attack  a  peaceful  man  without  provocation, 
nay,  even  lie  in  wait  to  surprise  him." 

"  Slay  me  at  once,"  answered  Sintram,  "  if  indeed  I  am  wor- 
thy to  die  by  the  hand  of  so  renowned  a  knight — I  can  no 
longer  endure  the  light  of  day."  "  Because  you  have  been 
overcome?"  asked  Montfaucon.  Sintram  shook  his  head.  "Or 
is  it  rather  because  you  have  committed  an  unknightly  action  ?" 

The  glow  of  shame  that  overspread  the  youth's  countenanje 
answered  this  question.  "  But  you  should  not  on  that  account 
wish  to  die  "  resumed  Montfaucon,  "  You  should  rather  wish 
to  live  that  you  may  prove  your  repentance,  and  make  your 
name  illustrious  by  many  noble  deeds.  For  you  are  endowed 
with  a  bold  spirit  and  with  strength  of  limb,  and  also  with  the 
^uick  eye  of  one  fitted  to  command.    I  should  have  made  you 


136 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  VI. 


a  knight  this  very  hour,  if  you  had  borne  yourself  as  bravely  in 
a  good  cause,  as  you  have  just  now  done  in  a  most  unworthy 
one.  See  to  it,  that  there  may  not  be  much  delay  in  your  re- 
ceiving that  high  honour.  I  trust  to  your  fulfilling  the  pro- 
mise of  good  which  is  discernible  in  you." 

A  joyous  sound  of  music  interrupted  his  discourse.  The 
Lady  Gabrielle,  bright  as  the  morning,  had  now  come  down 
from  the  ship,  surrounded  by  her  maidens,  and  having  been  in- 
formed by  Folko  in  a  few  words  who  his  late  adversary  was, 
she  spoke  of  the  combat  as  if  it  had  only  been  a  fair  and  hon- 
ourable passage  of  arms,  saying,  "  You  must  not  be  cast  down, 
noble  youth,  because  my  w^edded  lord  has  w^on  the  prize,  for  be 
it  known  to  you  that  in  the  whole  world  there  is  but  one  knight 
who  can  boast  of  not  having  been  overcome  by  the  baron  of 
Montfau9on.  And  who  can  say,"  continued  she  sportively, 
whether  even  that  would  have  happened,  had  he  not  set  him- 
self to  win  back  the  magic  ring  from  me,  from  me  his  lady- 
love, destined  to  him,  as  well  by  the  choice  of  my  own  heart, 
as  by  the  will  of  Heaven." 

Folko  bent  his  head  smiling  over  the  snow-white  hand  of  his 
lady,  and  then  desired  the  youth  to  conduct  them  to  his  father's 
castle.  Rolf  undertook  to  superintend  the  disembarking  of  the 
horses  and  valuables  of  the  strangers,  filled  with  joy  at  the 
thought  that  an  angel  in  woman's  form  had  appeared  to  exer- 
cise a  softening  influence  over  his  beloved  young  master,  and 
perhaps  even  to  free  him  from  that  curse  under  which  he  had 
so  long  suffered. 

Sintram  sent  messengers  all  around  to  seek  for  his  father, 
and  to  announce  to  him  the  arrival  of  his  noble  guests.  They 
therefore  found  the  old  knight  in  his  castle,  with  every  thing 
prepared  for  their  reception.  Gabrielle  could  not  enter  the 
vast,  dark-looking  building  without  a  slight  shudder,  which  was 
increased  when  she  saw  the  rolling  fiery  eyes  of  its  lord  ;  even 
the  pale  dark-haired  Sintram  seemed  to  her  to  assume  a  more 
fearful  appearance,  and  she  sighed  to  herself:  "Oh!  what  an 
awful  abode  have  you  brought  me  to  visit,  my  own  true  knight  1 


CHAP.  VI.] 


AND  ins  COMPANIONS. 


137 


Oh  that  we  were  once  again  in  my  sunny  Gascony,  or  in  your 
knightly  Normandy !" 

But  the  grave  yet  courteous  reception  they  met  with,  the 
deep  respect  paid  to  her  grace  and  beauty,  and  to  the  high  fame 
of  Folko,  helped  to  re-assure  her ;  and  ere  long  her  buoyant 
spirit  took  pleasure  in  observing  all  the  strange  novelties  by 
which  she  was  surrounded.  And  besides,  it  could  only  be  for 
a  passing  moment  that  any  womanly  fears  found  a  place  in  her 
breast  when  her  lord  was  near  at  hand — for  well  did  she  know 
v/hat  effectual  protection  that  brave  baron  was  ever  ready  to 
afford  to  all  those  who  were  near  to  him,  or  anyway  committed 
to  his  charge. 

Soon  afterwards  Rolf  passed  through  the  great  hall  in  which 
Biorn  and  his  guests  were  seated,  conducting  their  attendants, 
who  had  charge  of  the  baggage,  to  the  apartments  allotted  to 
strangers — ^and  Gabrielle,  catching  sight  of  her  favourite  lute, 
desired  it  might  be  brought  to  her,  in  order  that  she  might  see 
if  the  precious  instrument  had  suffered  any  damage.  As  she 
bent  over  it  with  earnest  attention,  and  her  taper 'fingers  ran  up 
and  down  the  strings,  a  smile,  bright  as  the  summer's  dawn, 
lighted  up  the  countenances  of  Biorn  and  his  son,  and  both  said 
with  an  involuntary  sigh :  "  Ah  !  if  you  would  but  play  on  that 
lute,  and  sing  to  it !  It  would  be  too  enchanting !"  The  lady 
looked  up  at  them  well  pleased,  and  smiling  hei  assent,  she 
began  this  song  : — 

"  Songs  and  flowers  are  returning 

And  radiant  skies  of  May, 
Earth  her  choicest  gifts  is  yielding, 

But  one  is  past  away. 

The  spring  that  clothes  with  tend'rest  green, 

Each  grove  and  sunny  plain, 
Shines  not  for  my  forsaken  heart, 

Brings  not  my  joys  again. 

Warble  not  so,  thou  nightingale. 

Upon  thy  blooming  spray, 
Tiiy  sweetness  now  will  burst  my  heart, 

I  cannot  bear  thy  lay.  ^ 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  VI. 


For  flowers  and  birds  are  come  again, 

And  breezes  mild  of  May, 
But  treasured  hopes  and  golden  hours 

Are  lost  to  me  for  aye  I" 

The  two  Norwegians  sat  plunged  in  melancholy  thought ; 
but  gradually  Sintram's  eyes  began  to  brighten  with  a  milder 
expression,  his  cheeks  glowed,  every  feature  relaxed,  till  those 
who  looked  at  him  could  have  fancied  they  saw  a  glorified  spirit. 
The  good  Rolf  who  had  stood  listening  to  the  song,  rejoiced  from 
his  heart  as  he  gazed  at  him,  and  devoutly  raised  his  hands  in 
pious  gratitude  to  heaven.  But  Gabrielle's  astonishment  did 
not  suffer  her  to  take  her  eyes  off  Sintram.  At  last  she  said  to 
him:  "I  should  much  like  to  know  what  it  is  that  has  so 
struck  you  in  that  little  song.  It  is  merely  a  simple  lay  of  the 
spring,  full  of  the  images  which  that  sweet  season  never  fails 
to  call  up  in  the  minds  of  my  countrymen." 

"  But  is  your  home  really  so  lovely,  so  wondrously  full 
of  poetry  and  its  delights'?"  cried  the  enraptured  Sintram. 
"  Then  I  am  no  longer  surprised  at  your  heavenly  beauty,  at 
the  empire  you  have  already  gained  over  my  hard,  wayward 
heart !  For  from  such  a  paradise  angelic  messengers  would 
surely  be  sent  to  comfort  and  enlighten  the  dark  desolate  world 
without."  And  so  saying  he  fell  on  his  knees  before  the  lady 
in  an  attitude  of  deep  humility.  Folko  looked  on  all  the  while 
with  an  approving  smile,  whilst  Gabrielle,  in  much  embarrass- 
ment, seemed  hardly  to  know  how  she  should  treat  the  half- 
wild,  yet  courteous  young  stranger.  After  a  little  hesitation, 
however,  she  extended  her  fair  hand  to  him,  and  said  as  she 
gently  raised  him :  "  Any  one  who  listens  with  such  delight 
to  music,  must  surely  know  how  to  awaken  its  strains  himself. 
Take  my  lute,  and  let  us  hear  one  of  your  spirit-stirring 
songs." 

Eat  Sintram  drew  back,  and  would  not  take  the  instrument, 
and  he  said :  "  Heaven  forbid  that  my  rough  untutored  hand 
should  touch  those  delicate  strings !  For  even  were  I  to  begin 
with  some  soft  strains,  yet  before  long  the  wild  spirit  w^hich 


CHAP.  VI.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


139 


dwells  in  me  would  break  out,  and  the  beautiful  instrument 
would  assuredly  be  injured  or  destroyed.  No,  no,  suffer  me 
rather  to  fetch  my  own  huge  harp,  strung  with  bears'  sinews 
set  in  brass,  for  in  truth  I  do  feel  myself  inspired  to  play  and 
sing." 

Gabrielle  murmured  a  half-frightened  assent,  and  Sintran\ 
having  brought  his  harp,  began  to  strike  it  loudly,  and  to  sing 
these  words  with  a  voice  no  less  powerful : 

"  Sir  Knight,  Sir  Knight,  oh !  whither  away 
With  thy  snow-white  sail  on  the  foaming  spray  ?" 
Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  the  land  of  flowers ! 

"  Too  long  have  I  trod  upon  ice  and  snow, 
I  seek  the  bowers  where  roses  blow." 

Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  the  land  of  flowers 

He  steered  on  his  course  by  night  and  dav 
Till  he  cast  his  anchor  in  Naples  Bay. 

Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  that  land  of  flowers ! 

There  wandered  a  Lady  upon  the  strand. 
Her  fair  hair  bound  with  a  golden  band. 

Sing  heigh^  sing  ho,  for  that  land  of  flowers  ! 

"  Hail  to  thee  !  hail  to  thee !  Lady  bright, 
Mine  own  shalt  thou  be  ere  morning  light." 
Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  that  land  of  flowers  ! 

"  Not  so,  Sir  Knight,"  the  Lady  replied, 
"  For  you  speak  to  the  Margrave's  chosen  bride.'* 
Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  that  land  of  flowers  ! 

"  Your  lover  may  come  with  his  shield  and  spear. 
And  the  victor  shall  win  thee,  Lady  dear  !" 
Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  that  land  of  flowers ! 

"  Nay,  seek  for  another  bride,  I  pray, 
Most  fair  are  the  maidens  of  Naples  Bay." 
Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  that  land  of  flowers  ! 

*'  No,  Lady,  for  thee  my  heart  doth  burn, 
And  the  world  cannot  now  rny  purpose  turn." 
Sing  heigh  sing  ho,  for  th-^t  land  of  flowers! 


140 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  VI. 


Then  came  the  young  Margrave,  bold  and  brave, 
But  low  was  he  laid  in  a  grassy  grave. 

Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  that  land  of  flowers  I 

And  then  the  fierce  Northman  joyous  cried, 
"  Now  shall  I  possess  lands,  castle  and  Bride  !" 
Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  that  land  of  flowers  ! 

Smtram's  song  was  ended,  but  his  eyes  glared  wildly,  and 
the  vibrations  of  the  harp-strings  still  resounded  in  a  marvel- 
lous manner.  Biorn's  attitude  was  again  erect,  he  stroked  his 
long  beard  and  rattled  his  sword  as  if  in  great  delight  at  what 
he  ha^^'just  heard.  The  wild  song  and  the  strange  aspect  of 
the  father  and  son  made  Gabrielle  tremble  more  than  ever,  but 
a  glance  towards  the  Lord  of  Montfauqon  again  quieted  her 
fears,  for  there  he  sat  with  a  calm  smile  on  his  lips,  as  com- 
posed in  the  midst  of  all  the  noise  as  though  it  had  only  been 
caused  by  a  passing  autumnal  storm. 


CHAP.  VII.J 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


141 


CHAPTER  VIL 

Some  weeks  had  passed  since  this,  when  one  ds.y,  as  the  shadows 
of  evening  were  beginning  to  fall,  Sintram  entered  the  garden 
of  the  castle  in  a  very  disturbed  state  of  mind.  Although  the 
presence  of  Gabrielle  never  failed  to  sooth  and  calm  him,  yet 
if  she  left  the  apartment  for  even  a  few  instants,  the  fearful 
wildness  of  his  spirit  seemed  to  return  with  renewed  strx^ngth. 
On  this  occasion,  after  having  in  the  kindest  manner  read 
legends  of  the  olden  times  to  his  father  Biorn  during  great  part 
of  the  day,  she  had  retired  to  her  own  chamber.  The  sweet 
tones  of  her  lute  could  be  distinctly  heard  in  the  garden  below, 
but  the  sounds  only  drove  the  agitated  youth  farther  and  farther 
into  the  deep  shades  of  the  ancient  trees  which  surrounded  the 
garden.  Stooping  suddenly  to  avoid  some  over-hanging  branch- 
es, he  started  at  finding  himself  close  to  something  which  he 
had  not  perceived  before,  and  which  at  first  sight  he  took  for  a 
small  bear  standing  on  its  hind  legs,  with  a  wonderfully  long 
and  crooked  horn  on  its  head.  He  drew  back  in  surprise  and 
fear,  a  shrill  voice  addressed  these  words  to  him  :  "  Well,  my 
brave  young  knight,  whence  do  you  come  ?  whither  are  you 
going  ?  and  wherefore  are  you  so  terrified  ?"  And  then  he  be- 
came aware  that  what  he  saw  was  a  little  old  man  so  -wrapped 
up  in  a  rough  garment  of  fur,  that  scarcely  one  of  his  features 
was  visible,  and  wearing  in  his  cap  a  strange  looking  long 
feather.  "  But  whence  do  you  come  ?  and  whither  are  you 
going  ?"  returned  the  angry  Sintram.  "  For  you  are  the  per- 
son to  whom  such  questions  should  be  addressed.  What  busi- 
ness have  you  in  our-domiains,  you  hideous  little  being?" 

"  Well,  well,"  sneered  the  other  one,  "  I  am  thinking  that  I 
am  quite  big  enough  as  I  am.  And  as  to  the  rest,  why  should 
you  object  to  my  being  here  hunting  for  snails  ?    Snnils  cannot 


142 


SINTRAM, 


[OIAP.  VII. 


surely  be  included  in  the  game  which  your  high  mightinesses 
consider  that  you  alone  have  a  right  to  pursue  ?  Now  it  hap- 
^pens  that  I  know  how  to  prepare  from  them  an  excellent  high- 
flavoured  beverage  ;  and  I  have  taken  a  sufficient  number  foi 
to-day:  marvellous  fat  little  animals,  with  wise  faces  like  a 
man's,  and  long  twisted  horns  on  their  heads.  Would  you  like 
to  see  them  ?    Look  here  !" 

And  then  he  began  to  unfasten  and  fumble  about  his  fur-gar- 
ment, till  Sintram,  filled  with  disgust  and  horror,  said .  Psha ! 
I  detest  such  animals  !  Be  quiet,  and  tell  me  at  once,  who,  and 
what  you  yourself  are."  "  Are  you  so  bent  upon  knowing  my 
name  ?"  replied  the  little  man.  "  Let  it  content  you  to  hear 
that  I  am  Master  of  all  secret  knowledge,  and  well-versed  in 
the  most  intricate  depths  of  ancient  history.  Ah  !  my  young 
Sir,  if  you  would  only  hear  some  of  the  things  I  have  to  tell ! 
But  you  are  too  much  afraid !" 

"  Afraid  of  you  !"  cried  Sintram,  with  a  wild  laugh. 

"  Many  a  better  man  than  you  has  been  so  before  now,"  mut- 
tered the  Little  Master,  "but  they  did  not  like  being  told  of  it 
any  more  than  you  do." 

"  To  prove  that  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Sintram,  "  I  will 
remain  here  with  you  till  the  moon  has  risen  high  in  the 
heavens.  But  you  must  relate  to  me  one  of  your  stories  the 
while." 

The  little  man  nodded  his  head  with  a  look  of  much  satisfac- 
tion, and  as  they  paced  together  up  and  down  a  retired  walk 
shaded  by  lofty  elm-trees,  he  began  discoursing  as  follows : — 

"  Many  hundred  years  ago  a  young  knight  called  Paris  of 
Troy  lived  in  that  sunny  land  of  the  south  where  are  found 
the  sweetest  songs,  the  brightest  flowers,  and  the  most  beautiful 
ladies.  You  know  a  song  that  tells  of  that  fair  land,  do*  you 
not,  young  Sir  ?  '  Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  that  land  of  flowers.' " 
Sintram  gave  a  sign  of  assent,  and  sighed  deeply,  "  Now," 
resumed  the  little  Master,  "  it  happened  that  Paris  led  that  kind 
of  life  which  is  not  uncommon  in  those  countries,  and  of  which 
their  poets  often  sing — he  would  pass  whole  months  together  in 


cn.\p.  VII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


143 


tlie  grab  of  a  peasant,  making  the  woods  and  mountains  resound 
to  the  tones  of  his  lute,  and  watching  the  flocks  which  he  led  to 
pasture.  Here  one  day  three  beautiful  goddesses  appeared  to 
him,  who  were  disputing  about  a  golden  apple — and  they  ap- 
pealed to  him  to  decide  which  of  them  was  the  most  beautiful, 
as  to  her  the  golden  prize  was  to  be  adjudged.  The  first  had 
power  to  give  thrones  and  sceptres  and  crowns  to  whom  she 
would — ^the  second  could  give  wisdom  and  knowledge — and  the 
third  knew  how  to  prepare  love-charms  which  couii  not  fail  uf 
securing  the  affections  of  the  fairest  of  women.  Each  one  in 
turn  proffered  her  choicest  gifts  to  the  young  shepherd,  in  order 
that,  tempted  by  them,  he  might  give  the  prize  to  her.  But  as 
beauty  charmed  him  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world,  he 
decided  that  the  third  goddess  should  win  the  golden  apple — 
hex  name  was  Venus.  The  two  others  departed  in  great  dis- 
pleasure, but  Venus  bid  him  put  on  his  knightly  armour,  and 
his  helmet  adorned  with  waving  feathers,  and  then  she  con- 
ducted him  to  a  famous  city  called  Sparta,  where  ruled  the 
noble  King  Menelaus.  His  young  wife  Helen  was  the  loveliest 
woman  on  earth,  and  the  goddess  offered  her  to  Paris  in  return 
for  the  golden  apple.  He  was  most  ready  to  have  her,  and 
wished  for  nothing  better ;  but  he  asked  how  he  was  to  gain 
possession  of  her." 

"  Paris  can  have  been  but  a  sorry  knight,"  interrupted  Sin- 
tram.  "  Such  things  are  easily  settled.  The  husband  is  chal- 
lenged to  a  single  combat,  and  he  that  is  victorious,  carries  off 
the  wife." 

"  But  King  Menelaus  was  exercising  hospitality  towards  the 
young  knight,"  said  the  narrator. 

"  Listen  to  me.  Little  Master,"  cried  Sintram,  "  he  might 
have  asked  the  goddess  for  some  other  beautiful  woman,  and 
then  have  mounted  his  horse,  or  weighed  anchor,  and  departed 
in  search  of  her." 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  is  very  easy  to  say  so,"  replied  the  old  man. 
*'  But  if  you  only  knew  how  bewitchingly  lovely  this  Q,ueen 
Helen  was.    After  seeing  her,  no  admiration  was  left  for  any 


144 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  Vll, 


one  else,"  And  then  he  hegan  a  glowing  description  of  the 
charms  of  this  wondrously  beautiful  princess,  giving  to  her 
every  one  of  Gabrielle's  features  with  such  exactness,  that  Sin- 
tram,  overcome  with  emotion,  was  obliged  to  lean  against  a 
tree  to  support  himself.  The  Little  Master  stood  opposite  to 
him,  grinning,  and  he  asked,  "  Well  now,  could  you  have  ad- 
vised that  poor  knight  Paris  to  fly  from  her  ?" 

"  Tell  me  at  once  what  happened  next,"  stam.mered  Sin- 
tram. 

"  The  goddess  acted  honourably  towards  Paris,"  continued 
the  old  man.  "  She  declared  to  him  that  if  he  would  carry 
away  the  lovely  princess  to  his  own  city  Troy,  he  might  do  so, 
and  thus  cause  the  ruin  of  his  whole  house  and  of  his  country ; 
but  that  during  ten  years  he  would  be  able  to  defend  Troy 
against  his  enemies  and  live  happy  in  the  love  of  his  fair 
lady." 

"  And  he  took  her  on  those  terms,  unless  he  was  a  fool !" 
cried  the  youth. 

"  To  be  sure  he  accepted  them,"  whispered  the  Little  Master. 
"  I  would  have  done  so  in  his  place !  And  do  you  know, 
young  Sir,  it  once  fell  out  that  the  appearance  of  things  was 
exactly  like  what  we  now  see.  The  newly  risen  moon,  partly 
veiled  by  clouds,  was  shining  dimly  through  the  thick  branches 
of  the  trees  in  the  silence  of  the  evening.  Leaning  against  a 
tree,  as  you  are  now  doing,  there  stood  the  young  enamoured 
knio-ht  Paris,  and  at  his  side  the  enchantress  Venus,  but  so  dis* 
ofuised  and  transformed,  that  she  did  not  look  much  more  at- 
tractive  than  I  do.  And  by  the  silvery  light  of  the  moon,  the 
form  of  the  beautiful  beloved  one  was  seen  sweeping  by  amidst 
the  whispering  boughs."  He  was  silent,  and,  as  if  to  realize 
his  deluding  words,  Gabrielle  just  then  appeared,  musing  as  she 
walked  alone  down  the  alley  of  elms.  "  Awful  being,  by  what 
name  shall  I  call  you  ?  What  is  it  that  you  would  drive  me 
to  ?"  muttered  the  trembling  Sintram. 

"  Do  not  you  remember  your  father's  strong  fortress  on  the 
Rocks  of  the  Moon?"  replied  '.he  old  man.  "  The  castellan  and  the 


CHAP.  VII  ] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


145 


garrison  are  entirely  devoted  to  you.  It  could  well  stand  a  ten 
years'  siege,  and  the  postern  gate  which  leads  to  it  is  open,  as 
was  that  of  the  royal  citadel  of  Sparta  for  the  happy  Paris." 
The  youth  looked,  and  perceived  in  fact  that  a  gate  in  the  gar- 
den-wall, which  was  usually  closed,  had  now  been  left  open, 
and  that  the  distant  mountains  lighted  up  by  the  moon  might 
be  clearly  seen  through  it.  "  And  if  he  did  not  accept,  he  was 
a  fool,"  said  the  Little  Master,  with  a  grin,  echoing  Sintram's 
former  words.  At  that  moment,  Gabrielle  drew  near  to  him. 
She  was  within  reach  of  his  grasp,  had  he  made  the  least 
movement ;  and  the  moon  as  it  shone  on  her  heavenly  counte- 
nance, gave  new  charms  to  it.  The  youth  had  already  bent 
forwards. 

«'  My  Lord  and  God,  I  pray 
Turn  from  his  heart  away 

This  world's  turmoil. 
And  call  him  to  Thy  light, 
Be  it  through  sorrow's  night. 

Through  pain  or  toil." 

These  words  were  sung  by  old  Rolf  at  that  very  time,  as  he 
lingered  on  the  banks  of  the  lake  by  the  castle,  seeking  a  re- 
lief to  his  anxious  thoughts  concerning  Sintram  in  the  fervent 
supplications  he  addressed  to  the  Almighty.  The  sounds  reach- 
ed Sintram's  ear;  he  stood  as  if  spell-bound,  and  made  the  sign 
of  the  Cross.  Immediately  the  Little  Master  fled  away,  jump- 
ing uncouthly  on  one  leg  through  the  gates  and  shutting  them 
after  him  with  a  loud  noise. 

Sintram  approached  the  terrified  Gabrielle,  and  said  as  he 
offered  his  arm  to  support  her :  "  Suffer  me  to  lead  you  back 
to  the  castle.  The  nights  in  these  northern  regions  are  often 
wild  and  fearful." 


11 


146 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  VIII. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

They  found  the  two  knights  within  sitting  together,  after  their 
evening  repast.  Folko  was  relating  stories  in  his  usual  mild 
and  cheerful  manner,  and  Biorn  was  listening  with  a  moody  air, 
hut  yet  as  if  against  his  will  the  dark  cloud  might  pass  way 
under  the  influence  of  his  companion's  bright  and  gentle  cour- 
tesy. Gabrielle  saluted  the  baron  with  a  smile,  and  signed  to 
him  to  continue  his  discourse,  as  she  took  her  place  next  to 
Biorn,  with  the  watchful  kindness  which  ever  marked  her  bear- 
ing towards  him.  Sintram  the  while  stood  by  the  hearth,  ab- 
stracted and  melancholy,  and  the  embers,  as  he  stirred  them, 
cast  an  unnatural  gleam  over  his  pallid  features. 

"  And  of  all  the  German  trading  towns,"  continued  Mont- 
fau^on,  "  the  largest  and  richest  is  Hamburgh.  In  Normandy 
the  merchants  of  this  city  are  always  received  with  a  hearty 
welcome,  and  those  excellent  people  never  fail  to  prove  them- 
selves our  friends  when  we  seek  their  advice  and  assistance. 
When  I  first  visited  Hamburgh,  every  honour  and  respect  was 
paid  me.  I  found  its  inhabitants  engaged  in  a  war  with  a 
neighbouring  prince,  and  immediately  I  devoted  my  sword  to 
their  service,  and  that  not  without  success." 

"  Your  sword  !  your  knightly  sword !"  interrupted  Biorn, 
and  more  than  the  wonted  fire  flashed  from  his  eyes.  "  You 
turned  it  against  a  knight,  and  on  behalf  of  shopkeepers !" 

"  Sir  knight,"  replied  Folko  calmly,  "  the  barons  of  Mont- 
faufon  have  ever  been  used  to  take  the  side  which  they  es- 
teemed the  right  one  in  combats,  without  consulting  indifferent 
bystanders,  and  as  I  have  received  this  good  custom  from  my 
forefathers,  so  do  I  wish  to  hand  it  on  to  my  remotest  descend- 
ants.   If  you  do  not  esteem  this  a  wise  practice,  you  are  at 


CHAP.  VIII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


147 


liberty  to  speak  your  opinion  freely.  But  I  cannot  suffer  you 
to  say  anything  against  the  people  of  Hamburgh  after  I  have 
declared  them  to  be  my  friends  and  allies." 

Biorn  cast  down  his  fierce  eyes  to  the  ground,  and  their  wild 
expression  seemed  to  fade  away.  He  said  in  a  subdued  tone : 
"  Proceed,  noble  baron.  You  are  right,  and  I  am  wrong."  Then 
Folko  stretched  out  his  hand  to  him  across  the  table,  and  re- 
sumed his  narration :  "  Amongst  all  my'  beloved  Hamburghers 
the  dearest  to  me  are  two  very  remarkable  men — a  father  and 
son.  What  have  they  not  seen  and  done  in  the  remotest  cor- 
ners of  the  earth !  and  how  has  every  talent  been  devoted  to 
the  good  of  their  native  town !  My  life  has  by  the  blessing  of 
God  been  not  unfruitful  in  deeds  of  renown,  but  in  comparison 
with  the  wise  Gotthard  Lenz  and  his  stout-hearted  son  Rudlieb, 
I  look  upon  myself  as  nothing  but  an  esquire  who  has  perhaps 
some  few  times  attended  knights  to  tourneys,  and  besides  that 
has  never  gone  out  of  his  own  forests.  They  have  carried  the 
light  of  religion,  and  with  it  happiness  and  peace,  to  savage  na- 
tions whose  very  names  are  unknown  to  me,  and  the  wealth 
which  they  have  brought  back  from  those  distant  climes  has  all 
been  given  to  promote  the  common  welfare  as  unhesitatingly  as 
if  no  other  use  could  possibly  be  devised  for  it.  On  their  re- 
turn from  their  long  and  perilous  sea  voyages,  they  hasten  to 
an  hospital  which  has  been  founded  by  them  and  of  which  they 
undertake  the  entire  charge.  Then  they  proceed  to  select  the 
most  fitting  spots  whereon  to  erect  new  towers  and  fortresses 
for  the  defence  of  their  beloved  country.  Next  they  repair  to 
the  houses  where  strangers  and  travellers  receive  hospitality  at 
their  cost — and  then  they  return  to  their  own  abode,  where 
guests  are  entertained  with  a  splendour  worthy  of  a  king's  pa- 
lace, and  yet  with  the  unassuming  simplicity  of  manners  which 
is  thought  only  to  belong  to  the  shepherd's  cot.  Many  a  tale 
of  their  wondrous  adventures  serves  to  enliven  these  sumptuous 
feasts.  Amongst  others,  I  remember  to  have  heard  my  friends 
relate  one  at  the  thought  of  which  I  still  shudder.    Possibly  I 


148 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  Vltl. 


may  gain  some  more  complete  information  on  the  subject  from 
you.  It  appears  that  several  years  ago,  just  about  the  time  of 
the  Christmas  festival,  Gotthard  and  Rudlieb  were  shipwrecked 
on  the  coast  of  Norway,  during  a  violent  winter's  tempest ; 
they  could  never  exactly  ascertain  the  situation  of  the  rocks 
on  which  their  vessel  stranded  ;  but  so  much  is  certain,  that 
very  near  the  sea-shore  stood  a  huge  castle  to  which  the  father 
and  son  betook  themselves,  seeking  for  that  assistance  and  shel- 
ter which  Christian  people  are  ever  willing  to  afford  each 
other  in  case  of  need.  They  went  alone,  leaving  their  follow 
ers  to  watch  the  ship.  The  castle  gates  were  thrown  open,  and 
th-»y  thought  all  was  well.  But  on  a  sudden  the  court-yard 
was  filled  with  armed  men,  who  with  one  accord  aimed  their 
sharp  iron-pointed  spears  at  the  defenceless  strangers,  whose 
dignified  remonstrances  and  mild  entreaties  were  only  heard 
in  sullen  silence  or  with  scornful  jeerings.  After  a  while  a 
knight  came  down  the  stairs,  his  eyes,  so  to  speak,  flashing  fire, 
they  hardly  knew  whether  to  think  they  saw  some  fearful  ap- 
parition, or  a  wild  heathen — ^he  gave  a  signal,  and  the  fatal 
spears  closed  around  them.  At  that  instant  the  soft  tones  of  a 
woman's  voice  fell  on  their  ear ;  she  was  calling  on  the  Saviour's 
holy  name  for  aid ;  at  the  sound,  the  wild  figures  in  the  court- 
yard rushed  madly  one  against  the  other,  the  gates  burst  open, 
and  Gotthard  and  Rudlieb  fled  away,  catching  a  glimpse  as 
they  went  of  an  angelic  face  which  appeared  at  one  of  the  win- 
dows of  the  castle.  They  made  every  exertion  to  get  their 
ship  again  afloat,  preferring  to  trust  themselves  to  the  treache- 
rous sea,  rather  than  to  remain  on  that  barbarous  coast,  and  at 
last  they  landed  in  Denmark  after  encountering  many  perils 
and  dangers.  They  have  always  said  that  it  must  have  been 
a  Heathen's  castle  in  which  they  were  so  cruelly  treated,  but 
I  am  rather  disposed  to  think  it  was  some  ruined  fortress,  long 
deserted  by  men,  in  which  evil  spirits  were  wont  to  hold  their 
nightly  assemblies,  for  is  it  possible  to  imagine  that  even  a 
Heathen  could  be  found  with  so  much  of  a  demon's  temper  as 


CIIAP.  VIII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


149 


to  meet  strangers,  asking  for  hospitality,  with  deadly  weapons, 

instead  of  the  refreshment  and  shelter  they  needed 

Biorn  gazed  fixedly  on  the  ground,  as  though  he  were  turned 
into  stone — but  Sintram  came  towards  the  table,  and  said  : 
"  Father,  let  us  seek  out  this  wicked  abode,  and  let  us  level  it 
to  the  ground.  I  cannot  tell  how,  but  I  feel  quite  sure  that  the 
accursed  deed  we  have  just  heard  of  is  alone  the  cause  of  my 
frightful  dreams."  Enraged  at  his  son's  words,  Biorn  rose  up, 
and  would  perhaps  again  have  uttered  some  dreadful  impreca- 
tion, but  Heaven  decreed  otherwise,  for  just  at  that  moment  the 
pealing  notes  of  a  trumpet  were  heard,  which  drowned  the  an- 
gry tones  of  his  voice ;  the  great  doors  opened  slowly,  and  a 
herald  entered  the  hall.  He  bowed  reverently,  and  then  said  : 
"  I  am  sent  by  Jarl  Eric  the  aged.  He  returned  two  days  ago 
from  his  expedition  to  the  Grecian  seas.  His  wish  had  been  to 
take  vengeance  on  the  island  which  is  called  Chios,  where  fifty 
years  ago  his  father  was  slain  by  the  soldiers  of  the  Emperor. 
But  your  kinsman,  the  sea-king  Arinbiorn,  who  was  lying  there 
at  anchor,  tried  to  pacify  him  and  to  turn  him  from  his  purpose 
— to  this  Jarl  Eric  would  not  listen — so  the  sea-king  said  next 
that  he  would  never  suflfer  Chios  to  be  laid  waste,  because  it 
was  an  island  where  the  lays  of  an  old  Greek  bard,  called 
Homer,  were  excellently  sung,  and  where  moreover  a  very 
choice  wine  was  made.  Words  proving  of  no  avail,  a  combat 
ensued,  in  which  Arinbiorn  had  so  much  the  advantage  that 
Jarl  Eric  lost  two  of  his  ships,  and  only  with  difficulty  escaped 
in  one  which  had  already  sustained  great  damage.  Eric  the 
aged  has  now  resolved  to  take  revenge  on  some  of  the  sea- 
king's  race,  since  Arinbiorn  himself  is  rarely  to  be  found.  Will 
you,  Biorn  of  the  Fiery  Eyes,  at  once  pay  as  large  a  penalty 
in  cattle  and  goods  of  whatever  description,  as  it  may  please  the 
Jarl  to  demand  ?  Or  will  you  prepare  to  meet  him  with  an 
armed  force  at  Niflung's  Heath  seven  days  hence  ?" 

Biorn  bowed  his  head  quietly,  and  replied  in  a  mild  tone ; 
"  Seven  days  hence  at  Niflung's  Heath."    He  then  ofl^ered  to 


150 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  VIIl, 


the  herald  a  golden  goblet  full  of  rich  wine,  and  added :  "  Drink 
that,  and  then  carry  off  with  thee  the  cup  which  thou  hast 
emptied." 

"  The  Baron  of  Montfaucon  likewise  sends  greeting  to  thy 
chieftain  Jarl  Eric,"  interposed  Folko,  "  and  engages  to  be  also 
at  Niflung's  Heath,  as  the  hereditary  friend  of  the  sea-king's 
house,  and  also  as  being  the  kinsman  and  guest  of  Biorn  of  the 
Fiery  Eyes." 

The  herald  was  seen  to  tremble  at  the  name  of  Montfaucon, 
he  bowed  very  low,  cast  an  anxious,  reverential  look  at  the 
baron,  and  left  the  hall.  Gabrielle  looked  on  her  knight  with 
a  smile  that  spoke  of  entire  trust  in  his  valour,  when  she  heard 
him  pledge  himself  to  appear  in  the  field,  and  she  only  asked, 
"  Where  shall  I  remain  whilst  you  go  forth  to  battle,  Folko  ?" 
"  I  had  hoped,"  answered  Biorn,  "  that  you  would  be  well  con- 
tented to  stay  in  this  castle,  lovely  lady ;  I  leave  my  son  to 
guard  you  and  attend  on  you."  Gabrielle  hesitated  an  instant, 
and  Sintram,  who  had  resumed  his  position  near  the  fire,  mut- 
tered to  himself  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  bright  flames  which 
were  flashing  up  :  "  Yes,  yes,  so  it  will  probably  happen.  I 
can  fancy  that  king  Menelaus  had  just  left  Sparta  on  some 
warlike  expedition  when  the  young  knight  Paris  met  the  lovely 
Helen  that  evening  in  the  garden."  But  Gabrielle,  shudder- 
ing, although  she  knew  not  why,  said  quickly :  "Remain  here 
without  you,  Folko  ?  And  how  could  I  bear  to  forego  the  joy 
of  seeing  you  win  fresh  laurels  ?  or  the  honour  of  tending  you, 
should  you  chance  to  receive  a  wound  ?"  Folko  bent  his  head 
in  acknowledgment  of  his  lady's  anxious  tenderness,  and  re- 
plied :  "  Come  with  your  own  true  knight,  since  such  is  your 
pleasure,  and  be  to  him  a  bright  guiding  star.  It  is  a  good  old 
northern  custom  that  ladies  should  be  present  at  knightly  com- 
bats, and  no  true  warrior  of  the  north  will  fail  to  respect  the 
place  whence  beams  the  light  of  their  eyes.  Unless  indeed," 
continued  he,  with  an  inquiring  look  at  Biorn,  "  unless  Jarl 
Eric  has  degenerated  from  his  valiant  forefathers  ?" 


CHAP.  VIIT.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


151 


"  His  honour  may  be  relied  on,"  said  Biorn,  confidently. 

"  Then  array  yourself,  my  fairest  love,"  said  the  delighted 
Folko,  "  array  yourself,  and  come  forth  with  us  to  the  battle- 
field, to  behold  and  judge  our  knightly  deeds." 

"  Come  forth  with  us  to  the  battle-field,"  echoed  Sintram,  in 
a  sudden  transport  of  joy. 

And  they  all  dispersed ;  Sintram  betaking  himself  again  'jn 
the  wood,  while  the  others  retired  to  rest 


152 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  DC 


CHAPTER  IX. 

It  was  a  wild,  dreary  tract  of  country  that  which  bore  the 
name  of  Niflung's  Heath.  According  to  tradition,  the  young 
Niflung,  son  of  Hogni,  the  last  of  his  race,  had  there  ended  in 
sadness  and  obscurity  a  life  which  no  warlike  deeds  had  ren- 
dered illustrious.  Many  ancient  monuments  of  the  dead  were 
still  standing  round  about,  and  in  the  few  oak-trees  scattered 
here  and  there  over  the  plain,  huge  eagles  had  built  their 
nests — the  beating  of  their  heavy  wings  as  they  fought  together, 
and  their  wild  screams,  were  heard  far  off  in  regions  more 
thickly  peopled  by  man,  and  at  the  sound  children  would  trem- 
ble in  their  cradles,  and  old  men  quake  with  fear  as  they  sat 
over  the  blazing  hearth. 

As  the  seventh  night,  the  last  before  the  day  of  combat,  was 
just  beginning,  two  large  armies  were  seen  descending  from  the 
hills  in  opposite  directions :  that  which  came  from  the  west  was 
commanded  by  Eric  the  aged,  that  from  the  east  by  Biorn  of 
the  Fiery  Eyes.  They  appeared  thus  early  in  compliance  with 
the  custom  which  required  that  adversaries  should  always  pre- 
sent themselves  at  the  appointed  field  of  battle  before  the  time 
named,  in  order  to  prove  that  they  rather  sought  than  dreaded 
the  hour  of  trial.  Folko  immediately  chose  out  the  most  con- 
venient spot  for  the  tent  of  blue  and  gold  to  be  pitched,  which 
was  to  shelter  his  gentle  lady ;  whilst  Sintram,  in  the  charac- 
ter of  herald,  rode  over  to  Jarl  Eric  to  announce  to  him  that 
the  beauteous  Gabrielle  of  Montfau^on  was  there  guarded  by 
his  father's  warriors,  and  would  the  next  morning  be  present  as 
a  judge  of  the  combat. 

Jarl  Eric  bowed  low  on  receiving  this  intelligence,  and  or- 
dered his  bards  to  strike  up  a  lay,  the  v/ords  of  which  ran  as 
follows : — 


CHAP.  IX. 1 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


X53 


"  W&rriors  bold  of  Eric's  band, 
Gird  your  glittering  armour  on, 
Stand  beneath  to-morrow's  sun. 

In  your  might. 

Fairest  dame  that  ever  gladdened 
Our  wild  shores  with  beauty's  vision, 
May  thy  bright  eyes  o'er  our  combat, 
Judge  the  right. 

Tidings  of  yon  noble  stranger 
Long  ago  have  reached  our  ears, 
Wafted  upon  southern  breezes, 

O'er  the  wave. 

Now  midst  yonder  hostile  ranks, 
In  his  warlike  pride  he  meets  us, 
Folko  comes  !    Fight,  men  of  Eric, 

True  and  brave !" 

These  wondrous  tones  floated  over  the  plain,  and  reached  the 
tent  of  Gabrielle.  It  was  no  new  thing  to  hear  her  knight's 
fame  celebrated  on  all  sides,  but  now  that  she  listened  to  his 
praises  bursting  forth  in  the  stillness  of  night  from  the  mouth  of 
his  enemies,  she  could  scarcely  refrain  from  kneeling  at  the  feet 
of  the  mighty  chieftain.  But  he  with  courteous  tenderness  pre- 
vented her  from  sinking  into  that  lowly  posture,  and  pressing 
his  lips  fervently  on  her  snow-white  hand,  he  said :  "  My  deeds, 
oh  lovely  lady,  belong  to  thee,  and  not  to  me  !" 

No  sooner  had  the  darkness  of  night  passed  away,  and  the 
red  streaks  in  the  east  announced  the  arrival  of  the  appointed 
morning,  than  the  whole  plain  seemed  alive  with  preparations 
for  the  combat :  knights  put  on  their  rattling  armour,  war- 
horses  began  to  neigh  impatiently,  the  morning-draught  went 
round  in  gold  and  silver  goblets,  while  war-songs  and  the  harps 
of  the  bards  resounded  far  and  near.  A  joyous  march  was 
heard  in  Biorn's  camp,  as  Montfau^on,  with  his  troops  and  re- 
tainers, all  clad  in  bright  steel  armour,  conducted  their  lady 
up  to  a  neighbouring  hill,  where  she  would  be  safe  from  the 
spears  which  would  soon  be  flying  in  all  directions,  and  whence 
she  could  command  a  complete  view  of  the  battle-field.  The 


154 


SINTRAM, 


[chap,  is 


morning  sun  lighted  up  her  lovely  features,  adding  radiance  to 
her  surpassing  beauty,  and  as  she  came  in  view  of  the  camp  of 
Tail  Eric,  his  soldiers  lowered  their  weapons,  whilst  the  chief- 
tains bent  their  proud  heads  which  were  covered  with  huge  hel- 
mets. Two  of  Montfaufon's  pages  remained  in  attendance  on 
the  lady  Gabrielle,  well  content  to  exchange  their  hopes  of 
gaining  renown  in  the  battle-field  for  the  far  greater  honour  of 
being  chosen  to  fulfil  this  office.  Both  armies  passed  in  front 
of  her,  saluting  her  as  they  went ;  they  then  placed  themselves 
in  array,  and  the  fight  began. 

The  spears  flew  from  the  hands  of  the  stout  northern  war- 
riors, rattling  against  the  broad  shields  under  which  they  shel- 
tered themselves,  or  sometimes  clattering  as  they  met  in  the 
air  ;  at  intervals,  on  one  side  or  the  other,  a  man  was  struck, 
and  fell  bathed  in  his  blood.  After  a  &hort  pause,  the  knight 
of  Montfaufon  advanced  with  his  troop  of  Norman  horsemen — 
even  as  he  dashed  past,  he  did  not  fail  to  lower  his  shining  sword 
to  salute  Gabrielle,  and  then,  with  a  loud  exulting  war-cry, 
which  burst  from  the  lips  of  all,  they  charged  the  left  wing  of 
the  enemy.  Eric's  foot-soldiers,  kneeling  firmly  in  close  ranks, 
received  them  with  fixed  javelins — many  a  noble  horse  fell 
wounded  to  death,  and  in  fallinof  broug-ht  his  rider  with  him  to 
the  ground — others  again  crushed  their  foes  under  them  as  they 
writhed  in  mortal  agonies.  In  the  midst  of  the  confusion  and 
bloodshed,  Folko  and  his  war-steed  escaped  unhurt,  and  follow- 
ed by  a  small  band  of  chosen  men,  he  dashed  through  the  hos- 
tile ranks.  Already  were  they  falling  into  disorder,  already 
were  Biorn's  warriors  giving  shouts  of  victory,  when  a  troop  of 
horse,  headed  by  Jarl  Eric  himself,  advanced  against  the  vali- 
ant Baron  of  Montfaufon  ;  and  whilst  his  Normans,  hastily  as- 
sembling round  their  leader,  assisted  him  in  repelling  this  un- 
expected attack,  the  enemy's  infantry  were  gradually  forming 
themselves  into  a  thick  impenetrable  mass,  which  rolled  on  in 
formidable  strength.  All  these  movements  seemed  to  be  di- 
rected by  a  warrior  in  the  centre,  whose  loud  piercing  shout 


CHAP,  ix.j 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


155 


was  heard  at  every  instant.  And  scarcely  were  the  troops 
formed  into  this  close  array,  when  suddenly  they  spread  them- 
selves out  on  all  sides,  carrying  every  thing  before  them  with 
the  irresistible  force  of  the  burning  torrent  from  a  volcano. 

Biorn's  soldiers,  who  had  thought  themselves  on  the  point  of 
enclojjing  their  enemies,  lost  courage  and  gave  way  at  once  be- 
fore this  wondrous  onset.  The  knight  himself  in  vain  attempt- 
ed to  stem  the  tide  of  fugitives,  and  with  difficulty  escaped  be- 
ing carried  away  by  it. 

Sintram  stood  looking  on  this  scene  of  confusion  with  mute 
indignation  ;  friends  and  foes  passed  by  him,  all  equally  avoid- 
ing him,  and  dreading  to  come  in  contact  with  one  whose  as- 
pect was  so  fearful,  nay  almost  unearthly,  in  his  motionless 
rage.  He  aimed  no  blow  either  to  right  or  left,  his  powerful 
battle-axe  hung  idly  at  his  side.  But  his  eye  flashed  fire,  and 
seemed  to  be  piercing  the  enemy's  ranks  through  and  through, 
in  the  endeavor  to  find  out  who  it  was  that  had  conjured  up 
this  sudden  warlike  spirit.  At  length  he  discovered  the  object 
of  his  search.  A  small  man  clothed  in  strange-looking  armour, 
with  large  golden  horns  in  his  helmet,  and  a  long  visor,  ad- 
vancing in  front  of  it,  was  leaning  on  a  tv/o-edged  curved  spear, 
and  seemed  to  be  looking  with  derision  at  the  hasty  flight  of 
Biorn's  troops  as  they  were  pursued  by  their  victorious  foes. 
"  That  is  he,"  cried  Sintram,  "  he  who  would  bring  me  to  dis- 
grace before  the  eyes  of  Gabrielle  !"  And  with  the  swiftness  of 
an  arrow  he  flew  towards  him,  uttering  a  wild  shout  of  defiance. 
The  combat  was  fierce,  but  not  of  long  duration.  To  the  won- 
drous dexterity  of  his  adversary,  Sintram  opposed  his  far  supe- 
rior strength  and  height,  and  he  dealt  such  a  tremendous  blow 
on  the  horned  helmet  that  a  stream  of  blood  rushed  forth,  the 
small  man  fell  as  if  stunned,  and,  after  some  frightful  convulsive 
movements,  his  limbs  appeared  to  stiffen  in  death. 

His  overthrow  gave  the  signal  for  that  of  all  Eric's  army. 
Even  those  who  had  not  seen  him  fall,  suddenly  lost  their 
courage,  and  again  retreated  in  confusion,  or  ran  in  wild  af- 


156 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  IX 


fright  on  the  very  spears  of  their  enemies.  At  the  same  time 
Montfau^on  was  dispersing  Jarl  Eric's  cavalry,  after  a  desperate 
conflict,  and  had  taken  their  chief  prisoner  with  his  own  hand. 
Biorn  of  the  Fiery  Eyes  stood  victorious  in  the  middle  of  the 
field  of  battle.    The  day  was  won. 


CHAP.  X.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


157 


CHAPTER  X. 

In  full  view  of  both  armies,  with  glowing-  cheeks  and  looks  of 
modest  humility,  Sintram  was  conducted  by  the  brave  baron 
of  Montfau^on  up  the  hill  where  Gabrielle  stood  in  all  the  lustre 
of  her  beauty.  Both  warriors  bent  the  knee  before  her,  and 
Folko  said  with  much  solemnity :  "  Lady,  this  valiant  youth  of 
a  noble  race  has  borne  away  the  palm  of  victory  to-day.  I  pray 
you  to  let  him  receive  from  your  fair  hand  the  reward  to  which 
he  is  so  justly  entitled." 

Gabrielle  bowed  courteously,  took  off  her  scarf  of  blue  and 
gold,  and  fastened  to  it  a  bright  sword  which  a  page  brought  to 
her  on  a  cushion  of  cloth  of  silver.  She  then  with  a  smils 
presented  her  precious  gift  to  Sintram,  who  was  bending  for 
ward  to  receive  it,  when  suddenly  Gabrielle  drew  back,  and 
turning  to  Folko,  she  said  :  "  Noble  baron,  should  not  he,  on 
whom  I  bestow  a  scarf  and  sword,  be  first  admitted  into  the 
order  of  knighthood  Folko  sprang  up,  and  bowing  low  be- 
fore his  lady,  gave  the  youth  the  accolade  with  solemn  earnest- 
ness. Then  Gabrielle  buckled  on  his  sword,  saying :  "  Take 
this  for  the  honour  of  God  and  the  service  of  noble  ladies, 
young  knight.  I  saw  you  fight,  I  saw  you  conquer,  and  my 
fervent  prayers  were  offered  up  for  you.  Fight  and  conquer 
often  again  as  you  have  done  this  day,  that  the  fame  of  your 
deeds  may  be  wafted  even  to  my  far  distant  country."  And  at 
a  sign  from  Folko,  she  offered  her  cheek  for  the  new  knight  to 
kiss.  Thrilling  all  over,  and  full  of  a  holj?-  joy,  Sintram  arose 
in  deep  silence,  and  tears  streamed  down  his  cheeks,  whilst  the 
shout  of  the  assembled  troops  greeted  the  enraptured  youth 
with  stunning  applause.  Old  Rolf  stood  silently  on  one  side, 
and  as  he  saw  the  mild  beaming  expression  in  his  beloved 
pupil's  countenance,  he  calmly  and  piously  returned  thanks. 


158 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  X 


The  strife  is  now  at  an  end — rich  blessings  are  showered 
down — the  evil  foe  is  slain." 

Biorn  and  Jarl  Eric  had  the  while  been  talking  together  with 
eagerness,  but  not  with  animosity.  The  conqueror  now  led  his 
vanquished  enemy  up  the  hill,  and  presented  him  to  the  taroa 
and  Gabrielle,  saying:  "Instead  of  two  enemies,  you  now  see 
two  sworn  allies,  and  I  request  you,  my  beloved  guests  and 
kinsfolk,  to  receive  him  graciously  as  one  who,  from  hence- 
forward, belongs  to  us."  "  He  was  ever  one  with  you  in 
heart,"  added  Eric,  smiling  ;  "  I  have  indeed  sought  for  re- 
venge of  former  wrongs,  but  I  have  now  had  enough  of  defeats 
both  by  sea  and  land.  Yet  I  thank  Heaven,  that  neither  in  the 
Grecian  seas,  nor  on  Niflung's  Heath,  have  I  shown  myself 
wanting  in  valour."  The  lord  of  Montfaufon  assented  cor- 
dially, and  the  terms  of  peace  were  agreed  on  with  entire  good 
will.  Jarl  Eric  then  addressed  Gabrielle  in  so  courtly  a  man- 
ner that  she  could  not  refrain  from  looking  on  the  gigantic  old 
warrior  with  a  smile  of  astonishment,  and  she  gave  him  her 
hand  to  kiss. 

Meanwhile  Sintram  was  standing  apart,  speaking  earnestly 
to  his  good  Rolf,  and  at  length  he  was  heard  to  say:  "  But  be- 
fore all,  be  sure  that  you  bury  that  wonderfully  brave  knight 
whom  my  battle-axe  laid  low.  Choose  out  the  greenest  hill  for 
his  resting-place,  and  the  loftiest  oak  to  shade  his  grave.  Also 
I  wish  you  to  open  his  visor  and  to  examine  his  countenance 
carefully,  lest  the  blow  should  only  have  deprived  him  of  mo- 
tion, not  of  life  ;  and  moreover,  that  you  may  be  able  to  give 
me  an  exact  description  of  him  to  whom  I  owe  the  noblest, 
most  precious  prize  ever  adjudged  to  man." 

Rolf  departed  to  execute  his  orders.  "  Our  young  knight 
is  speaking  there  of  one  amongst  the  slain,  of  whom  I  should 
like  to  hear  more,"  said  Folko,  turning  to  Jarl  Eric.  "  Who 
was  that  wonderful  chieftain  who  rallied  your  troops  in  so  mas 
terly  a  manner,  and  who  at  last  fell  un<^er  Smtram's  powerfu] 
weapon  ?" 

"  You  ask  me  more  than  I  know  how  to  answer,"  replied 


t5HAP.  X.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


159 


Jarl  Eric.  "About  three  nights  ago,  this  stranger  made  his 
appearance  amongst  us.  I  was  sitting  with  my  chieftains  and 
warriors  round  the  hearth,  forging  our  armour,  and  singing  the 
while.  Suddenly,  above  the  din  of  our  hammering  and  our 
singing,  we  heard  so  loud  a  noise  that  it  silenced  us  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  we  sat  motionless  as  if  we  had  been  turned  into 
stone.  The  sound  continued  equally  stunning,  and  at  last  we 
made  out  that  it  must  be  caused  by  some  person  blowing  a  huge 
horn  outside  the  castle,  in  order  to  obtain  admittance.  I  went 
down  myself  to  the  gate,  and  as  I  passed  through  the  court- 
yard I  perceived  that  all  my  dogs  were  so  terrified  by  the  ex- 
traordinary noise  as  to  be  howling  and  crouching  in  their  ken- 
nels, instead  of  barking  at  the  intruders.  I  scolded  them,  and 
called  to  them,  but  even  the  fiercest  would  not  follow  me.  ^  Then,' 
thought  I  to  myself,  ^  I  must  shew  you  the  way  to  set  to  work 
so  I  grasped  my  sword  firmly,  I  set  my  torch  on  the  ground 
close  beside  me,  and  I  let  the  gates  fly  open  without  further  de- 
lay. For  I  well  knew  that  it  would  be  no  easy  matter  for  any 
one  to  effect  an  entrance  against  my  will.  A  loud  laugh  greet- 
ed me,  and  I  heard  these  words :  '  Well,  well,  what  mighty 
preparations  are  these  before  one  small  man  is  allowed  to  find 
the  shelter  he  seeks  !'  And  in  truth  I  did  feel  myself  redden 
with  shame  when  I  saw  the  small  stranger  standing  opposite  to 
me,  quite  alone.  I  called  to  him  to  come  in  at  once,  and  offer- 
ed my  hand  to  him ;  but  he  still  showed  some  displeasure,  and 
would  not  give  me  his  in  return.  As  he  went  up,  however,  he 
became  more  friendly,  he  showed  me  the  golden  horn  on  which 
he  sounded  that  blast,  and  which  he  carried  screwed  on  his  hel- 
met, as  well  as  another  exactly  like  it.  When  he  was  sitting 
with  us  in  the  hall,  he  behaved  in  a  very  strange  manner — 
sometimes  he  v/as  merry,  sometimes  cross,  by  turns  courteous 
and  rude  in  his  demeanour,  without  any  one  being  able  to  see 
a  motive  for  such  constant  chang-es.  I  long-ed  to  know  where 
ht  came  from,  but  how  could  I  ask  my  guest  such  a  question  ? 
He  told  us  as  much  as  this,  that  he  was  starved  with  cold  in  our 
country,  and  that  his  own  was  much  warmer.    Also  he  appear 


160 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  X 


ed  well  acquainted  with  the  city  of  Constantinople,  and  related 
fearful  stories  of  how  brothers,  uncles  and  nephews,  nay  even 
fathers  and  sons,  had  been  known  there  to  drive  each  other  from 
the  throne,  and  to  exercise  such  cruelties  as  putting  out  eyes, 
and  cutting  out  tongues,  when  they  stopped  short  of  murdering 
their  opponents.  At  length  he  said  his  ow^n  name ;  it  sounded 
harmonious,  like  a  Greek  name,  but  none  of  us  could  remember 
it.  Before  long,  he  displayed  his  skill  as  an  armourer.  He 
understood  marvellously  well  how  tc  handle  the  rjd-hot  iron, 
and  how  to  form  it  into  weapons  of  a  more  murderous  nature 
than  any  I  had  ever  before  seen.  I  would  not  suffer  him  to  go 
on  making  them,  for  I  was  resolved  to  meet  you  in  the  field 
with  such  arms  only  as  you  would  yourselves  bear,  and  as  w^e 
are  all  used  to  in  our  northern  countries.  Then  he  laughed, 
and  said  he  thought  it  w^ould  be  quite  possible  to  be  victorious 
without  their  aid,  provided  address  and  dexterity  were  not  want- 
ing, and  so  forth  ;  if  only  I  would  entrust  the  command  of  my 
infantry  to  him,  I  might  depend  upon  success.  It  occurred  to 
me  that  he  who  was  so  skilled  in  forging  arms  must  also  wield 
them  well — yet  I  required  some  proof  of  his  powers.  Sir  knight, 
he  came  off  victorious  in  trials  of  strength,  more  surprising  than 
any  you  could  imagine — and  although  the  fame  of  young  Sin- 
tram  as  a  bold  and  brave  warrior  is  spread  far  and  wide,  yet  I 
can  scarce  believe  that  he  really  succeeded  in  slaying  such  an 
one  as  my  Greek  ally  showed  himself  to  be." 

He  would  have  continued  speaking,  but  the  good  Rolf  here 
made  his  appearance  hastening  towards  them,  followed  by  a 
few  attendants,  the  whole  party  looking  so  ghastly  pale  that  all 
eyes  were  involuntarily  fixed  on  them,  and  every  one  waited 
anxiously  to  hear  what  tidings  they  brought.  Rolf  stood  still, 
silent  and  trembling. 

"  Take  courage,  my  old  friend !"  cried  Sintram.  "  What- 
ever you  may  have  to  tell  will  come  forth  clear  and  true  from 
your  honest  lips."  "  My  dear  master,"  began  the  old  man,  "  be 
not  angry,  but  as  to  burying  that  strange  warrior  whom  you 
slew,  it  is  a  thing  impossible.    Would  that  we  had  never  opened 


<?1IAP.  X.\ 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


that  wide,  hideous  visor !  For  so  horrible  a  countenance  grinned 
at  us  from  underneath  it,  so  distorted  by  death,  and  with  such 
a  fiendish  expression,  that  we  hardly  kept  our  senses.  We 
could  not  by  any  possibility  have  touched  him.  I  would  rather 
be  sent  to  kill  wolves  and  bears  in  the  desert,  and  look  on  whilst 
fierce  birds  of  prey  feast  on  their  carcasses." 

All  present  shuddered,  and  were  silent — till  Sintram  nerved 
himself  to  say  :  "  Dear  good  old  man,  why  use  such  wild  words 
as  I  never  till  now  heard  you  utter?  But  tell  me,  Jarl  Eric, 
did  your  ally  present  such  an  awful  appearance  while  he  was 
yet  alive  ?" 

"  I  do  not  call  it  to  mind,"  answered  Jarl  Eric,  looking  in- 
quiringly at  his  companions  who  were  standing  around.  They 
said  the  same  thing  as  their  lord  ;  but  on  further  questioning, 
it  appeared  that  neither  the  chieftain,  nor  the  knights,  nor  the 
soldiers,  could  say  exactly  what  the  stranger  was  like. 

"We  must  then  find  it  out  for  ourselves,  and  bury  the 
corpse,"  said  Sintram ;  and  he  signed  to  the  assembled  party  to 
flUow  him.  All  did  so,  except  the  lord  of  Montfau9on,  whom 
the  whispered  entreaty  of  Gabrielle  kept  at  her  side.  He  lost 
nothing  by  remaining  behind  :  for  though  Niflung's  Heath  was 
searched  from  one  end  to  the  other  many  times,  yet  the  body  of 
the  unknown  warrior  was  never  again  discovered. 


.2 


SINTRAM, 


[OIUP.  XI. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  joy  and  serenity  which  came  over  Sintram's  soul  on  thia 
day  appeared  to  he  much  more  than  a  passing  gleam.  If  still 
an  occasional  thought  of  the  knight  Paris  and  the  fair  Helen 
would  for  a  moment  make  his  heart  beat  wildly,  it  needed  but 
one  look  at  his  scarf  and  sword  to  restore  calmness  within. 
"  What  can  any  man  wish  for  more  than  has  been  already  be- 
stowed on  me  ?"  would  he  say  to  himself  at  such  times,  in  deep 
emotion.    And  thus  it  went  on  for  a  long  while. 

The  autumn,  so  beautiful  in  those  northern  climes,  had  al- 
ready begun  to  redden  the  leaves  of  the  old  oaks  and  elms  round 
the  castle,  when  one  day  it  chanced  that  Sintram  found  himself 
seated  in  company  with  Folko  and  Gabrielle,  in  almost  the  very 
same  spot  in  the  garden  where  he  had  before  met  that  myste- 
rious being  whom,  without  knowing  why,  he  had  named  the 
Little  Master.  But  on  this  day  in  what  a  different  light  did 
every  thing  appear!  The  sun  was  sinking  slowly  over  the 
sea, — the  mist  of  an  autumnal  evening-  was  rising"  from  the 
fields,  and  wreathing  itself  round  the  hill  on  which  stood  the 
huge  castle.  Gabrielle,  placing  her  lute  in  Sintram's  hands, 
said  to  him  :  "  Dear  youth,  I  no  longer  fear  entrusting  my  deli- 
cate favourite  to  you,  now  that  you  are  become  so  mild  and 
gentle.  Let  me  again  hear  you  sing  that  lay  of  the  land  of 
flowers,  for  I  am  sure  that  it  will  now  sound  much  sweeter 
'  than  when  you  accompanied  it  with  the  vibrations  of  your 
fearful  harp." 

The  young  knight  bowed  as  he  prepared  to  obey  the  lady's 
commands.  With  a  grace  and  softness  hitherto  strangers  to 
him,  the  wild  strains  flowed  from  his  lips,  and  appeared  to  lose 
their  former  character,  and  to  change  into  harmony  to  which 
angels  might  have  listened.    Tears  stood  in  Gabrielle's  eyes ; 


CHAP.  XI.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


163 


and  Sintram,  as  he  gazed  on  the  bright  pearly  drops,  poured 
forth  tones  of  yet  richer  sweetness.  When  the  last  notes  were 
sounded,  Gabrielle's  angelic  voice  was  heard  to  echo  them,  and 
as  she  repeated 

"  Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  for  that  land  of  flowers," 

Sintram  put  down  the  lute,  and  raised  his  thankful  eyen  to- 
wards the  stars,  which  were  now  stealing  out  and  studdingf  the 
whole  face  of  the  sky.  Then  Gabrielle,  turning  towards  her 
lord,  murmured  these  words :  "  Oh,  how  long  have  we  been 
wandering  far  away  from  our  own  sunny  hills  and  bright  gar- 
dens !    Oh  !  for  that  land  of  the  sweetest  flowers !" 

Sintram  could  scarce  believe  that  he  heard  aright,  so  sud- 
denly did  he  feel  himself  as  if  shut  out  from  paradise.  But  his 
faint  hopes  of  being  mistaken  were  crushed  by  the  assurance  of 
Folko,  that  he  would  endeavour  to  fulfil  his  lady's  wishes  with 
all  possible  speed,  and  that  their  ship  was  lying  off  the  shore 
ready  to  put  to  sea.  She  thanked  him  with  a  kiss  imprinted 
softly  on  his  forehead ;  and  leaning  on  his  arm  she  bent  her 
steps  towards  the  castle. 

The  wi'etched  Sintram,  neglected  and  forgotten,  remained 
behind,  motionless  as  if  he  had  been  turned  to  stone.  At  length, 
when  the  darkness  of  night  had  spread  itself  over  the  whole 
sky,  he  started  up  wildly,  ran  up  and  down  the  garden  as  if  all 
his  former  madness  had  taken  possession  of  him,  and  then 
rushed  out,  and  wandered  upon  the  hills  in  the  pale  moonlight. 
There  he  dashed  his  sword  against  the  trees  and  bushes,  so 
that  all  around  was  heard  a  sound  of  crashino-  and  falling-  the 
birds  of  nis^ht  flew  about  him  screeching^  in  wild  alarm,  and  the 
deer,  startled  by  the  noise,  sprung  away  to  take  refuge  in  the 
thickest  coverts. 

On  a  sudden  old  Rolf  appeared,  returning  home  from  a  visit 
to  the  chaplain  of  Drontheim,  to  whom  he  had  been  relating  with 
tears  of  joy,  how  Sintram  was  subdued  by  Gabrielle's  mild  in- 
fluence, and  how  they  might  venture  to  hope  that  his  evil 
dreams  would  never  again  disturb  his  mind.    And  now  the 


164 


SINTRAM, 


[CIIAP.  XI, 


sword  of  the  furious  youth  had  well-nigh  wounded  the  old  man 
in  some  of  its  fearful  thrusts  to  right  and  left.  He  stopped 
short,  and,  clasping  his  hands,  he  said  with  a  deep  sigh :  "  Alas, 
my  beloved  Sintram,  my  foster-child !  what  madness  has  seized 
you.  and  made  you  thus  wild  and  frantic  ?" 

The  youth  stood  awhile  as  if  spell-bound,  he  looked  in  his 
old  friend's  face  with  a  fixed  and  melancholy  gaze,  and  his  eyes 
became  dim,  like  expiring  watch-fires  seen  through  a  thick 
cloud  of  .mist.  At  length  he  sighed  forth  these  words,  almost 
inaudibly :  "  Good  Rolf,  good  Rolf,  depart  from  me  !  I  have 
been  cast  out  of  your  garden  of  delight ;  and  if  sometimes  a 
light  breeze  blows  open  its  golden  gates  so  that  I  can  look  in  and 
see  the  sunny  spot  where  heavenly  inhabitants  wander  to  and 
fro,  then  immediately  a  cruel  cutting  wind  arises,  which  shuts 
to  the  gates,  and  I  remain  without,  to  pass  a  never-ending 
winter  in  cheerless  desolation." 

"  Beloved  young  knight,  oh !  listen  to  me ; — listen  to  the 
voice  of  the  good  Spirit  within  you !  Do  you  not  bear  in  your 
hand  that  very  sword  which  the  bright  lady  you  serve  girded 
you  with  ?  Does  not  her  scarf  wave  over  your  wildly  beating 
heart?  Do  you  not  recollect  how  you  used  to  say,  that  no 
mortal  could  wish  for  more  than  had  been  bestowed  on  your- 
self?" 

"  Yes,  Rolf,  I  have  said  that,"  replied  Sintram,  sinking  on 
the  mossy  turf,  drowned  in  bitter  tears.  The  old  man  wept 
also.  Before  long  the  youth  stood  again  erect,  his  tears  ceased  to 
flow,  his  countenance  assumed  a  cold  terrible  expression,  and 
he  said :  "  You  see,  Rolf,  I  have  passed  such  blessed  peaceful 
days,  and  I  thought  within  myself  that  the  powers  of  evil  would 
never  again  have  dominion  over  me.  So,  perchance,  it  might 
have  been,  just  as  much  as  daylight  would  always  last  were 
the  sun  never  to  go  below  the  horizon.  But  ask  the  poor  be- 
nighted earth,  wherefore  she  looks  so  dull  and  dark  !  Bid  her 
again  smile  as  she  was  wont  to  do !  Old  man,  she  cannot 
smile ; — and  now  that  the  gentle  compassionate  moon  has  dis- 
appeared behind  the  clouds  with  her  sadly-soothing  funeral  veil, 


CHAP.  XI.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


165 


she  cannot  even  weep.  And  in  this  hour  of  darkness,  all  that  is 
wild  and  awful  wakes  up  into  life !  So  do  not  stop  me,  I  tell 
thee,  do  not  stop  me  !  Hurrah !  I  am  rushing  behind  the  pale 
moon  !"  His  voice  changed  to  a  hoarse  murmur  at  these  last 
words.  He  tore  away  from  the  trembling  old  man,  and  rush- 
ed through  the  forest.  Rolf  knelt  down,  and  prayed  and  wept 
silently. 


166 


SINTRAM, 


ci;ap.  xii. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Where  the  sea-beach  was  wildest,  and  the  ..lifTs  most  steep  and 
rugged,  and  close  by  the  remains  of  three  shattered  oaks,  which 
probably  marked  a  place  where,  in  darker  times,  human  vic- 
tims had  been  sacrificed,  now  stood  Sintram,  leaning,  as  if  ex- 
hausted, on  his  drawn  sword,  and  gazing  intently  on  the  danc- 
ing waves.  The  moon  had  again  shone  forth,  and  as  her  pale 
beams  fell  on  his  motionless  figure  through  the  quivering 
branches  of  the  trees,  he  might  have  been  taken  for  some  fear- 
ful idol  image.  Suddenly  some  one,  hitherto  unnoticed  by  him, 
half-raised  himself  out  of  the  withered  grass,  uttered  a  faint 
groan,  and  again  lay  down.  This  marvellous  conversation  then 
arose  between  the  two : 

"  Thou  that  movest  thyself  so  strangely  amid  the  grass,  dost 
thou  belong  to  the  living  or  to  the  dead  ?" 

"  That  is  as  you  may  choose  to  take  it.  I  am  dead  to  heaven 
and  joy — I  live  for  hell  and  anguish." 

"  I  could  fancy  that  I  had  already  heard  thee  speak." 

"  Oh,  yes,  thou  surely  hast." 

"  Art  thou  a  troubled  spirit  ?  and  was  thy  life-blood  poured 
out  here  in  ancient  times  ?" 

"  I  am  a  troubled  spirit ; — but  no  man  ever  has,  or  ever  can 
shed  my  blood.  I  have  been  cast  down — oh !  into  a  frightful 
abyss !" 

«  And  wert  thou  killed  by  the  fall  ?" 

"  I  am  living  now, — and  I  shall  live  longer  than  thou." 

"  I  could  almost  fancy  that  thou  wert  the  crazy  pilgrim  with 
the  dead  men's  bones  hanging  about  him." 

"  1  am  not  he,  although  we  often  consort  together, — and,  in- 
deed, in  the  most  friendly  manner.  But  to  let  you  into  a  se- 
cret, he  considers  me  to  be  mad.    If  I  sometimes  urge  him, 


CHAP.  XII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


167 


and  say  to  him,  '  Take  !' — then  he  hesitates,  and  points  up- 
wards towards  the  stars.  And,  again,  if  I  say,  '  Take  not !' — 
then,  to  a  certainty,  he  seizes  on  it  in  some  awkward  manner, 
and  so  he  spoils  my  best  joys  and  pleasures.  But,  in  spite  of 
all  this,  we  remain  as  before,  bound  by  a  close  alliance,  and 
even  by  a  degree  of  relationship." 

"  Give  me  thy  hand,  and  let  me  help  thee  up." 

"  Ho,  ho !  my  active  young  sir,  that  might  bring  you  no  good. 
Yet,  in  fact,  you  have  already  helped  to  raise  m^.  Give  heed 
to  what  is  going  on  around." 

The  movements  of  Sintram's  unknown  companion  seemed  to 
become  stranger  each  minute  ;  thick  clouds  swept  wildly  over 
the  moon  and  the  stars,  and  Sintram's  thoughts  grew  no  less 
wild  and  stormy,  while  far  and  near  an  awful  howling  could 
be  heard  amidst  the  trees  and  the  grass.  At  length  the  mys- 
terious being  arose  from  the  ground.  As  if  to  gratify  a  fear- 
ful curiosity,  the  moon  looked  out  from  behind  a  cloud,  and  the 
sudden  gleam  of  light  showed  the  horror-stricken  Sintram  that 
his  companion  was  none  other  than  the  Little  Master. 

"  Avaunt,"  cried  he,  "  I  will  listen  no  more  to  your  evil  sto- 
ries about  the  knight  Paris.  They  would  end  by  driving  me 
quite  mad." 

"  My  stories  about  Paris  are  not  needed  for  that !"  grinned 
the  Little  Master.  "  It  is  enough  that  the  Helen  of  your  af- 
fections should  be  journeying  towards  Montfau9on.  Believe 
me,  madness  has  already  taken  possession  of  every  part  of  you. 
But  what  should  you  say  were  she  to  remain  ?  For  that,  how- 
ever, you  must  show  me  more  courtesy  than  you  have  of  late." 
Therewith  he  raised  his  voice  towards  the  sea,  as  if  fiercely  re- 
buking it,  so  that  Sintram  could  not  keep  from  shuddering  and 
trembling  before  the  hideous  dwarf  But  he  checked  himself, 
and  grasping  his  sword-hilt  with  both  hands,  he  said  contemptu- 
ously :  "  You  and  Gabrielle !  what  acquaintance  do  you  pre- 
tend to  have  with  Gabrielle  ?" 

"  Not  much,"  was  the  reply.  And  the  Little  Master  might 
be  seen  to  quake  with  fear  and  rage,  hs  he  continued  :  "  I  can-' 


168  SINTRAM,  [  CIUP.  XII. 

•  not  well  bear  to  hear  the  name  of  your  Helen :  do  not  din  it  in 
my  ears  ten  times  in  a  breath.  But  if  the  tempest  should  in- 
crease ?  If  the  foaming  waves  should  swell,  and  roll  on  till 
they  form  an  impenetrable  barrier  round  the  whole  coast  of 
Norway?  The  voyage  to  Montfau^on  must  in  that  case  be 
altogether  given  up,  and  your  Helen  would  remain  here  at  least 
through  the  long,  long,  dark  winter !" 

"  If !  if !"  replied  Sintram,  with  scorn.  "  Is  the  sea  your 
bond-slave  ?    Are  tempests  obedient  to  you  ?" 

"  They  are  rebels,  accursed  rebels,"  muttered  the  Little  Mas- 
ter. "  You  must  lend  me  your  aid,  Sir  Knight,  if  I  am  to 
subdue  them  ;  but  you  have  not  the  heart  for  such  a  service." 

"  Boaster,  evil  boaster !"  answered  the  youth.  "  What  is 
that  you  require  of  me  ?" 

"  It  is  not  much.  Sir  Knight,  nothing  at  all  for  one  who  has 
strength  and  ardour  of  soul.  You  need  only  look  at  the  sea 
steadily  for  one  half-hour,  without  ever  ceasing  to  wish  in- 
tensely that  it  should  foam  and  rage  and  swell,  and  never  again 
become  quiet  until  winter  has  laid  its  icy  hold  upon  your 
mountains.  Then  king  Menelaus  will  be  effectually  prevented 
from  undertaking  a  voyage  to  Montfaufon.  And  now  give  me 
a  lock  of  your  black  hair,  which  is  blowing  so  wildly  about 
your  head,  looking  like  ravens'  or  vultures'  wings." 

The  youth  drew  his  sharp  dagger,  madly  cut  off  a  lock  of  his 
hair,  threw  it  to  the  strange  being,  and  according  to  his  direc- 
tions began  gazing  on  the  sea,  and  wishing  ardently  that  a 
storm  should  arise.  And  soon  the  water  began  to  be  slightly 
agitated  with  a  motion  almost  as  imperceptible  as  the  murmur- 
ing of  one  disturbed  by  uneasy  dreams,  who  would  gladly  be 
at  rest  and  yet  cannot.  Sintram  was  on  the  point  of  giving 
up,  when  the  moonbeams  fell  on  the  white  sails  of  a  ship  which 
was  going  rapidly  in  a  southerly  direction.  A  pang  shot 
through  his  heart,  as  he  was  thus  forcibly  reminded  of  Gabri- 
elle's  departure  ;  he  wished  again  with  all  his  power,  and  fixed 
his  eyes  intently  on  the  watery  expanse.  "  Sintram,"  a  voice 
might  have  said  to  him,  "  ah !  Sintram,  can  you  be  indeed  the 


cftAP.  xii  ]  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  169 

very  same  who  but  so  lately  was  gazing  in  deep  emotion  on  the 
tearful  eyes  of  Gabrielle  ?" 

And  now  the  waves  were  seen  to  heave  and  swell,  and  the 
howling  tempest  sv*rept  over  the  ocean  ;  the  breakers,  white 
with  foam,  became  visible  in  the  moonlight.  Then  the  Little 
Master  threw  the  lock  of  Sintram's  hair  up  towards  the  clouds, 
and  as  it  was  blown  to  and  fro  by  the  blast  of  wind,  the  storm 
burst  in  all  its  fury,  so  that  sea  and  sky  were  co\  ered  with  one 
thick  cloud,  and  far  off  might  be  heard  the  cries  of  distress  from 
many  a  sinking  vessel. 

Just  then  the  crazy  pilgrim  with  the  dead-men's  bones  rose  up 
in  the  midst  of  the  waves,  close  to  the  shore ;  his  height  ap- 
peared gigantic  as  he  rocked  to  and  fro  in  a  fearful  manner ; 
the  boat  in  which  he  was  standing  was  entirely  hid  from  sight 
by  the  raging  waves  which  rose  all  around  it. 

"  You  must  save  him.  Little  Master,  you  must  anyhow  save 
him,"  cried  Sintram,  his  voice  rising  in  a  tone  of  angry  en- 
treaty above  the  roaring  of  the  winds  and  waves — ^but  the  dwarf 
replied  with  a  laugh :  "  Be  quite  at  ease  on  his  account,  he  will 
be  able  to  save  himself  The  waves  can  do  him  no  harm.  Do 
you  see  ?  They  are  only  begging  of  him,  and  therefore  they 
jump  up  so  boldly  round  him.  And  he  gives  them  bountiful 
alms ;  very  bountiful,  that  I  can  assure  you." 

Accordingly  the  pilgrim  was  seen  to  throw  some  bones  in  the 
sea,  and  to  pass  on  his  way  without  suffering  damage.  Sin- 
tram  felt  his  blood  run  cold  with  horror,  and  he  rushed  Vvildly 
towards  the  castle.  His  companion  had  either  fled  or  vanished 
away. 


170 


SINTRAM, 


CHAP.  X.U. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BiORN  and  Gabrielle  and  Folko  of  Montfau^on  were  sitting 
round  the  great  stone  table,  from  which,  since  the  arrival  of  his 
noble  guests,  the  lord  of  the  castle  had  cajise  I  those  suits  of 
armour  to  be  removed  that  formerly  had  been  his  companions — 
they  were  placed  all  together  in  a  heap  in  one  of  the  adjoining 
apartments.  At  this  time,  while  the  storm  was  beating  so  furi- 
ously against  doors  and  windows,  it  seemed  as  if  the  ancient 
armour  were  also  stirring  in  the  next  room,  and  Gabrielle  seve- 
ral times  half  rose  from  her  seat  in  great  alarm,  fixing  her  eyes 
on  the  small  iron  door,  as  though  she  expected  to  see  an  armed 
spectre  issue  therefrom,  bending  down  his  plumed  helmet  as  he 
passed  underneath  the  low  vaulted  door-way.  The  knight 
Biorn  smiled  grimly,  and  said,  as  if  reading  her  thoughts : 
"  Oh  !  he  will  never  again  come  out  thence,  I  have  put  an  end 
to  that  for  ever."  His  guests  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  as  if 
anxious  to  understand  his  meaning  ;  and  with  a  strange  air  of 
unconcern,  as  though  the  storm  had  awakened  all  the  fierce- 
ness of  his  soul,  he  began  the  following  history : 

"  I  was  once  a  happy  man  myself;  I  could  smile,  as  you  do— 
and  I  could  rejoice  in  the  clear  morning  air,  as  you  do ;  that 
was  before  the  hypocritical  chaplain  had  so  worked  on  the 
pious  scruples  of  my  lovely  wife,  as  to  induce  her  to  shut  her- 
self up  in  a  cloister,  and  leave  me  alone  with  my  ungovernable 
child.  That  was  not  fair  usage  on  the  part  of  the  fair  Verena. 
Well,  so  it  was,  that  in  the  first  days  of  her  dawning  beauty, 
before  I  knew  her,  many  knights  sought  her  hand,  amongst 
whom  was  Sir  Weigand  the  Slender ;  and  towards  him  the 
gentle  maiden  showed  herself  the  most  favourably  inclined. 
Her  parents  were  well  aware  that  Weigand's  rank  and  station 
were  little  below  their  own,  and  that  his  firae  as  a  warrior 
without  reproach  promised  to  stand  high  ,  so  that  before  long  if 


CHAP.  XIII.I 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


171 


was  generally  known  that  Verena  and  he  were  betrothed  to 
each  other.  It  happened  one  day  that  they  were  walking  to- 
gether in  the  garden  of  her  father's  castle,  at  the  time  when  a 
shepherd  was  driving  his  flock  up  the  mountain  beyond.  The 
maiden  took  a  fancy  to  a  little  snow-white  lamb  which  she  saw 
frolicking  about,  and  wished  to  have  it.  Weigand  flew  out  of 
the  garden,  overtook  the  shepherd,  and  offered  him  two  pieces 
of  gold  for  the  lamb.  But  the  shepherd  would  not  part  with  it, 
and  scarcely  listened  to  the  knight,  going  quietly  the  while  up  the 
mountain  side.  Weigand  persevered,  but  failing  in  his  attempts, 
he  lost  patience,  and  at  last  uttered  some  threat.  The  shep- 
herd, who  was  not  wanting  in  the  pride  and  stubbornness  of  all 
our  northern  peasants,  threatened  in  return.  Suddenly  Wei- 
gand's  sword  glittered  above  his  head — the  stroke  should  have 
fallen  lightly — ^but  who  can  control  a  fiery  horse,  or  an  angry 
warrior's  arm  ?  The  shepherd's  head  seemed  cleft  asunder  by 
the  blow,  he  rolled  bathed  in  blood  down  to  the  very  bottom  of 
the  precipice — his  terrified  flock  dispersed  on  the  mountains. 
The  little  lamb  alone  took  refuge  in  the  garden,  and,  all  sprin- 
kled with  its  master's  blood,  it  laid  itself  down  at  Verena's 
feet,  as  if  asking  for  protection.  She  took  it  up  in  her  arms, 
and  from  that  moment  never  suffered  Weigand  to  appear  again 
in  her  presence.  She  continued  to  cherish  the  little  lamb,  and 
seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  nothing  else  in  the  world,  while  she 
became  each  day  more  and  more  pale,  like  the  lilies,  and  her 
every  thought  was  devoted  to  Heaven.  She  would  soon  have 
taken  the  veil,  but  just  then  I  came  to  aid  her  father  in  a  war 
in  which  he  was  engaged,  and  saved  him  from  his  too  powerful 
enemies.  As  a  reward  of  my  services,  he  prevailed  on  his 
daughter  to  give  me  her  fair  hand.  The  overwhelming  weight 
of  his  affliction  would  not  suffer  the  unhappy  Weigand  to  re- 
main in  his  own  country — he  went  as  a  pilgrim  to  Asia, 
whence  our  forefathers  came,  and  there  he  performed  won- 
drous deeds  of  valour,  not  omitting  acts  of  humiliation  and 
penitence.  I  could  not  hear  him  spoken  of  in  those  days 
without  rny  heart  being  strangely  moved  with  compassion. 
Years  rolled  by,  and  he  returned,  meaning  to  erect  a  church 


172 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  XIII. 


or  monastery  on  that  mountain,  towards  the  west,  whence  the 
walls  of  my  castle  are  distinctly  seen.  It  was  said  that  he 
wished  to  become  a  priest  there,  but  it  fell  out  otherwise.  For 
Some  pirates  having  sailed  from  the  southern  seas  towards  our 
coasts,  and  having  heard  mention  made  of  this  monastery 
which  wa.s  in  progress,  their  chief  hoped  to  find  much  gold  in 
the  possession  of  those  who  were  building  it,  or  to  get  a  large 
ransom  for  them,  if  he  should  succeed  in  surprising  them,  and 
carrying  them  off  He  could  not  have  known  much  about  the 
valour  of  northern  warriors  !  However,  he  soon  arrived,  and 
having  landed  in  the  creek  under  the  black  rocks,  he  led  his 
men  through  a  by-path  up  to  the  building,  surrounded  it,  and 
thought  in  himself  that  the  game  was  now  in  his  hands. 
Ha  !  then  out  rushed  Weigand  and  his  builders,  and  fell  upon 
them  with  swords,  and  hatchets,  and  hammers.  The  heathens 
fled  away  to  their  ships,  closely  pursued  by  Weigand.  In 
passing  by  our  castle,  he  caught  a  sight  of  Verena  on  the 
terrace,  and,  for  the  first  time  during  so  many  years,  she  be- 
stowed a  courteous  and  kind  salutation  on  the  victorious  war- 
rior. At  that  moment  a  dagger,  hurled  by  one  of  the  pirates 
in  the  midst  of  his  hasty  flight,  struck  Weigand's  uncovered 
head,  and  he  fell  to  the  ground  bleeding  and  insensible.  We 
completed  the  rout  of  the  heathens  :  then  I  directed  the  wounded 
knight  to  be  brought  into  the  castle  ;  and  my  Verena's  pale 
cheeks  glowed  as  lilies  do  in  the  light  of  the  morning  sun,  and 
Weigand  opened  his  eyes  with  a  smile  when  he  was  brought 
naar  her.  He  refused  to  be  taken  into  any  room  but  the  small 
one  close  to  this,  where  the  armour  is  now  placed  ;  for  he  said 
that  he  felt  as  if  it  were  a  cell  like  that  which  he  hoped  soon 
to  inhabit  in.  the  quiet  cloister  he  was  erecting.  All  was  done 
conformably  to  his  desire  ;  my  sweet  Verena  nursed  him,  and 
he  appeared  at  first  to  be  advancing  favourably  towards  re- 
covery, but  his  head  continued  weak,  and  liable  to  be  confused 
by  the  slightest  emotion — his  steps  were  faltering,  and  his  cheeks 
colourless.  We  would  not  suffer  him  to  depart.  When  we 
were  sitting  here  together  in  the  evening,  he  used  always  to 
fome  tottering  into  the  hall  through  ftie  low  doorway;  and  my 


CHAP.  XIII.J 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


173 


heart  was  sad,  and  wrathful  too,  when  the  soft  eyes  of  Verena 
beamed  so  sweetly  on  him,  and  a  glow  like  that  of  the  evening 
sky  lighted  up  her  pale  countenance.  But  I  bore  it,  and  1 
could  have  borne  it  to  the  end  of  our  lives, — when,  alas !  Verena 
shut  herself  up  in  a  cloister !" 

His  head  fell  so  heavily  on  his  folded  hands,  that  the  stone 
table  groaned  under  it,  and  he  remained  a  long  while  motion- 
less as  a  corpse.  When  he  again  raised  himself  up,  his  eyes 
glared  as  he  looked  round  the  hall,  and  he  said  to  Folko: 
"  Your  beloved  Hamburghers,  Gotthard  Lentz,  and  Rudlieb  his 
son,  they  have  much  to  answer  for !  Who  bid  them  come  and 
be  shipwrecked  so  close  to  my  castle 

Folko  cast  a  piercing  look  on  him,  and  a  fearful  inquiry  was 
on  the  point  of  escaping  his  lips,  but  another  look  at  the  trem- 
bling Gabrielle  caused  him  to  refrain,  at  least  for  the  present 
moment,  and  the  knight  Biorn  continued  his  narrative  : 

"  Verena  was  with  her  nuns,  I  was  left  alone,  and  my  des- 
pair had  driven  me  to  the  mountains  and  the  forest  during  the 
whole  day.  Towards  evening  I  returned  to  my  deserted  cas- 
tle, and  scarcely  was  I  in  the  hall,  when  the  little  door  creaked 
on  its  hinges,  and  Weigand,  who  had  slept  through  all,  crept 
towards  me  and  asked  :  ^  Where  can  Verena  be  V  Then  I 
became  like  one  out  of  his  senses,  and  I  shouted,  '  She  is  gone 
mad,  and  so  am  I,  and  you  also,  and  now  we  are  all  mad  !' 
Merciful  Heaven,  the  wound  on  his  head  burst  open,  and  a 
dark  .red  stream  flowed  over  his  face — alas  !  how  different  from 
the  redness  which  overspread  it  when  Verena  met  him  at  the 
castle  gate, — and  he  rushed  forth,  raving  mad,  into  the  wilder- 
ness without,  and  ever  since  has  wandered  all  around,  as  a 
cvazy  pilgrim." 

He  was  silent,  and  so  were  Folko  and  Gabrielle, — all  three 
pale  and  cold,  like  images  of  the  dead.  At  length  the  fearfuJ 
narrator  added  in  a  low  voice,  and  as  if  he  were  quite  exhaust- 
ed :  •  "  He  has  visited  me  since  that  time,  but  he  will  never  again 
come  through  the  low  door-way.  Have  I  not  established  peace 
and  order  in  mv  castle  ?" 


174 


SIN  TRAM, 


[chap.  XIV. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Sin  TRAM  had  not  returned  home,  when  the  inhabit;  jits  of  the 
castle  betook  themselves  to  rest  in  great  disturbance  of  mind. 
No  one  thought  of  him,  for  every  heart  was  filled  with  strange 
forebodings  of  evil,  and  with  undefined  anxiety.  Even  the 
firm  heroic  spirit  of  the  knight  of  Montfau^on  did  not  escape 
t">e  general  agitation. 

Old  Rolf  still  remained  without,  weeping  in  the  forest,  heed- 
less of  the  storm  which  beat  on  his  unprotected  head,  while  he 
waited  for  his  young  master.  But  he  had  gone  a  very  different 
way;  and  when  the  morning  dawned,  he  entered  the  castle 
from  the  opposite  side. 

Gabrielle's  slumbers  had  been  but  too  sweet  during  the  whole 
night.  It  had  seemed  to  her  that  angels  with  golden  wings  had 
blown  away  the  wild  histories  she  had  listened  to  the  evening 
before,  and  had  wafted  to  her  the  bright  flowers,  the  sparkling 
sea,  and  the  green  hills  of  her  own  home.  She  smiled,  and 
drew  her  breath  calmly  and  softly,  whilst  the  supernatural  tem- 
pest raged  and  howled  through  the  forests,  and  kept  up  a  fear-^ 
ful  conflict  with  the  troubled  sea.  But,  in  truth,  when  she  awoke 
in  the  morning,  and  heard  the  crashing  of  the  storm  still  con- 
tinuing, and  saw  the  clouds  still  hiding  the  face  of  the  heavens, 
she  could  have  wept  for  anxiety  and  sadness,  especially  when 
she  heard  from  her  maidens  that  Folko  had  already  left  their 
apartment  clad  in  full  armour  as  if  prepared  for  a  combat.  At 
the  same  time  she  could  distinguish  the  sound  of  the  heavy 
tread  of  armed  men  in  the  echoing  halls,  and,  on  inquiring, 
found  that  the  knight  of  Montfau9on  h.id  assembled  all  his  re- 
tainers to  be  in  readiness  to  protect  their  lady. 

Wrapped  in  a  cloak  of  ermine,  she  stood  trembling  like  a 
tender  flower  which  has  just  sprung  up  out  of  the  snow,  and  is 


CHAP.  XIV.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


175 


exposed  to  the  rude  blasts  of  a  winter's  storm.  At  that  mo- 
ment Sir  Folko  entered  the  room,  arrayed  in  his  brilliant  ar- 
mourj  and  in  peaceful  guise  carrying  his  golden  helmet,  with 
the  long  shadowy  plumes  in  his  hand.  He  saluted  Gabrielle 
with  an  air  of  cheerful  serenity,  and,  at  a  sign  from  him,  hia 
attendants  retired — the  men-at-arms  without  were  heard  quietly 
dispersing. 

"  Lady,"  said  he,  as  he  took  his  seat  beside  her  m  a  couch 
to  which  he  led  her,  already  re-assured  by  his  presence ; 
"  Lady,  will  you  forgive  your  knight  for  having  left  yoa  to  en- 
dure some  moments  of  anxiety,  whilst  he  was  obeying  the  call 
of  honour  and  the  stern  voice  of  duty.  Now  all  is  set  in  order, 
quietly  and  peacefully ;  dismiss  your  fears  and  every  thought 
that  has  troubled  you,  as  things  that  have  no  longer  any  ex- 
istence." 

"  But  you  and  Biorn  ?"  asked  Gabrielle. 

"  On  the  word  of  a  knight,"  replied  he,  "  all  is  as  it  should 
be."  And  thereupon  he  began  to  talk  over  indifferent  subjects 
with  his  usual  ease  and  vivacity ;  but  Gabrielle,  bending  to- 
wards him,  said,  with  deep  emotion : 

"  Oh  Folko,  my  knight,  the  guiding  star  of  my  life,  my  pro- 
tector, and  my  dearest  hope  on  earth,  tell  me  all,  if  you  may. 
If  you  are  bound  by  a  promise  to  keep  any  thing  secret,  I  ask 
no  more.  You  know  that  I  am  of  the  race  of  Portamour,  and 
I  would  ask  nothing  from  my  knight  which  could  cast  even  a 
breath  of  suspicion  on  his  spotless  shield." 

Folko  thought  gravely  for  one  instant,  then  looking  at  her 
with  a  bright  smile,  he  said  :  "  It  is  not  that,  Gabrielle,  but  can 
you  bear  what  1  have  to  disclose  ?  Will  you  not  sink  down  at 
the  tidings,  as  a  slender  fir  gives  way  under  a  mass  of  snow?" 

She  raised  herself  with  a  somewhat  proud  air,  and  said  :  "  I 
have  already  reminded  you  of  the  name  of  my  father's  house. 
Let  m.e  now  add  that  I  am  the  w^edded  wife  of  the  Baron  of 
Montfaugon." 

"  Then  so  let  it  be,"  replied  Folko  solemnly  ;  "  and  if  that 
must  come  forth  opcnl}"  wliicli  should  ever  hrive  remained  hid* 


176  SINTRAM,  ^iap.  xiw 

den  in  the  darkne§3  which  belongs  to  such  deeds  of  wickedness, 
at  least  the  horror  of  longer  expectation  shall  not  be  added  to 
it.  Know  then,  Gabrielle,  that  the  wicked  knight  who  attempted 
the  destruction  of  my  friends  Gotthard  and  Rudlieb,  is  none 
other  than  our  kinsman  and  host,  Biorn  of  the  Fiery  Eyes." 

Gabrielle  shuddered  and  covered  her  eyes  with  her  fair 
hands ;  but  at  the  end  of  a  moment  she  looked  up  with  a  be- 
wildered air,  and  said :  "  I  have  heard  wrong  surely,  although 
i  is  true  that  yesterday  evening  such  a  thought  flashed  across 
my  mind.  For  did  not  you  say  awhile  ago  that  all  was  settled 
and  at  peace  between  you  and  Biorn?  Between  the  brave 
baron  and  such  a  man  after  such  a  crime  ?" 

"  You  heard  aright,"  answ^ered  Folko,  looking  with  fond  de- 
light on  the  delicate,  yet  noble  spirited  being  beside  him. 
"  This  morning  with  the  earliest  dawn  I  went  to  him  and  chal- 
lenged him  to  a  mortal  combat  in  the  neighbouring  valley,  if  he 
were  the  man  to  whose  cruelty  Gotthard  and  Rudlieb  had  so 
well  nigh  fallen  victims.  He  was  already  completely  armed, 
and  merely  saying,  ^  I  am  he,'  he  led  the  way  towards  the 
forest.  But  when  we  stood  alone  at  the  place  of  combat,  he 
flung  away  his  shield  down  a  giddy  precipice,  then  his  sword 
was  hurled  after  it,  and  next  with  gigantic  strength  he  tore  ofl' 
his  coat  of  mail,  and  said :  '  Now  fall  on,  thou  minister  of  ven- 
geance, for  I  am  a  man  laden  with  guilt,  and  I  dare  not  fight 
with  thee.'  How  could  I  then  attack  him  ?  A  strange  kind 
of  truce  was  agreed  on  between  us, — he  is  to  be  my  vassal  to 
a  certain  extent,  and  yet  I  solemnly  forgave  him  in  my  own 
name  and  in  that  of  my  friends.  He  was  contrite,  and  yet  no 
tear  was  in  his  eye,  no  word  of  penitence  on  his  lips.  He  is  only 
kept  under  by  the  power  with  which  I  am  endued  by  having 
right  on  my  side,  and  it  is  on  that  tenure  that  Biorn  is  my  vas- 
sal. I  know  not,  lady,  whether  you  can  bear  to  see  us  together 
on  these  terms  ;  if  not,  I  will  ask  for  hospitality  in  some  other 
castle — there  are  none  in  Norway  which  would  not  receive  us 
joyfully  and  honourably,  and  this  wild  autumnal  storm  may 
put  off  our  voyage  for  man}"  i  day.    Only  I  feel  persuaded  of 


CHAP.  XIV.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


177 


this,  that  if  we  depart  directly  and  in  such  a  manner,  the  heart 
of  this  savage  man  will  break." 

"  Where  my  noble  lord  remains,  there  am  I  content  to  re- 
main also  ander  his  protection,"  replied  Gabrielle,  and  again 
her  heart  glowed  with  rapture  at  the  greatness  of  her  knight 


19 


178 


SINTRAM, 


[CHKT.  S.ff 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  noble  kdy  had  just  unbuckled  her  knight's  armour  wnh 
her  own  fair  hands, — for  it  was  only  on  the  field  of  battle  that 
pages  or  esquires  were  permitted  to  perform  that  office  for 
Montfau9on, — and  now  she  was  throwing  over  his  shoulders  his 
mantle  of  blue  velvet  embroidered  with  gold,  when  the  door 
opened  gently,  and  Sintram,  entering  the  room,  saluted  them 
with  an  air  of  deep  humility.  Gabrielle  received  him  kindly 
as  she  was  wont,  but,  suddenly  turning  pale,  she  looked  away 
and  said :  "  Oh  !  Sintram,  what  has  happened  to  you  ?  Ami 
how  can  one  single  night  have  so  fearfully  altered  you  ?" 

Sintram  stood  still,  thunderstruck,  and  feeling  as  if  he  him- 
self did  not  know  what  had  befallen  him.  Then  Folko  took 
him  by  the  hand,  led  him  towards  a  bright  polished  shield,  and 
said  very  earnestly:  "Look  here  at  yourseK  young  knight!" 

No  sooner  had  Sintram  cast  a  glance  »  he  mirror  than  he 
drew  back  with  horror.  He  fancied  that  he  saw  the  Little 
Master  before  him  with  that  single  upright  feather  sticking  out 
of  his  cap  ;  but  he  at  length  perceived  that  the  mirror  was  only 
showing  him  his  own  image  and  none  other,  and  that  it  was 
owing  to  the  lock  of  hair  cut  off  by  his  own  dagger  that  his 
whole  appearance  had  become  so  strange,  nay,  even  unearthly, 
as  he  was  obliged  to  confess  himself 

"  Who  has  done  that  to  you,"  asked  Folko  in  a  tone  yet 
more  grave  and  solemn.  "  And  why  does  your  disordered 
hair  stand  on  end  ?" 

Sintram  knew  not  what  to  answer.  He  felt  as  if  he  were 
standing  to  be  judged,  and  as  if  his  sentence  could  be  none 
other  than  a  shameful  degradation  from  his  knightly  rank. 
Suddenly  Folko  drew  him  away  from  the  shield,  and  taking 
him  towards  the  window  against  which  the  storm  was  beating, 
he  asked  :  "  Whence  comes  this  tempest  ?" 


CHAP.  'V. 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


179 


Still  Sintram  kept  silence.  His  limbs  began  to  tremble  un- 
Lei  him,  and  Gabrielle,  pale  and  terrified,  whispered :  "  Oh 
Folko,  my  knight,  what  has  happened  ?  Oh  tell  me  ;  are  we 
come  into  an  evil  enchanted  castle  ?" 

"  The  land  of  our  Northern  ancestors,"  replied  Folko  with 
solemnity,  "  is  full  of  mysterious  knowledge.  But  we  may  not, 
for  all  that,  call  its  people  enchanters ;  still  this  youth  has  good 
cause  to  watch  himself  narrowly;  he  whom  the  Evil  One  has 
touched  by  so  much  as  one  hair  of  his  head  " 

Sintram  heard  no  more ;  with  a  deep  groan  he  staggered  out 
of  the  room.  As  he  left  it,  he  met  old  Rolf,  still  almost  be- 
numbed by  his  exposure  to  the  cold  and  storms  of  the  night. 
Now  in  his  joy  at  again  seeing  his  young  master,  he  did  not 
remark  his  altered  appearance ;  but  as  he  accompanied  him  to 
his  sleeping  room,  he  said :  "  Witches  and  spirits  of  the  tempest 
must  have  taken  up  their  abode  on  the  sea-shore.  I  am  certain 
that  such  wild  storms  never  arise  without  some  magical  arts." 

Sintram  fell  into  a  fainting-fit,  {torn  which  Rolf  could  with 
difficulty  recover  him  sufficiently  to  appear  in  the  great  hall  at 
the  mid-day  repast.  But  before  he  went  down,  he  caused  a 
mirror  to  be  brought,  and  having  again  surveyed  himself  there- 
in with  grief  and  horror,  he  cut  close  rouiJd  ail  the  rest  of  his 
long  black  hair,  so  that  he  made  himself  look  almost  like  a 
monk,  and  thus  he  joined  the  party  already  assembled  round 
the  table.  They  all  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  but  old  Biorn 
rose  up  and  said  fiercely :  "  Are  you  going  to  betake  yourself  to 
a  cloister  as  well  as  the  fair  lady,  your  mother  ?" 

A  commanding  look  from  the  Baron  of  Montfaufon  checked 
any  farther  outbreak,  and,  as  if  in  apology,  Biorn  added  with  a 
forced  smile :  "  I  was  only  thinking  if  any  accident  had  befal- 
len him,  like  Absalom's,  and  if  he  had  been  obliged  to  save  him- 
self from  being  strangled  by  parting  with  all  his  hair." 

"  You  should  not  jest  on  sacred  subjects,"  answered  the  Baron 
severely,  and  all  were  silent.  No  sooner  was  the  repast  ended 
than  Folko  and  Gabrielle,  with  grave  and  courteous  salutation, 
retired  to  their  own  apartments. 


180 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  XVI 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

After  this  time  a  great  change  took  place  in  tho  mode  of  living" 
jf  the  inhabitants  of  the  castle.  Those  two  bright  beings,  Folko 
and  Gabrielle,  spent  most  part  of  the  day  in  their  apartments, 
and  when  they  appeared  below,  their  intercourse  with  Biorn  and 
Sintram  was  marked  b}'-  a  grave  dignified  reserve  on  their  part 
and  by  humility  mixed  with  fear  on  that  of  their  hosts  Never- 
theless, Biorn  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  his  guests  seek- 
ing shelter  in  any  other  knight's  abode.  Once  that  Folko  said  a 
word  on  the  subject,  something  like  a  tear  stood  in  the  wild  man's 
eye — his  head  sank,  and  he  said  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice : 
It  must  be  as  you  please  :  but  I  feel  that  if  you  go,  I  shall  fly 
to  the  caves  and  rocks  in  despair." 

And  thus  they  all  remained  together ;  for  the  storm  continued 
to  rage  with  such  increasing  fury  over  the  sea,  that  no  thought 
of  embarking  could  be  entertained,  and  the  oldest  man  in  Nor- 
way could  not  call  to  mind  having  witnessed  such  an  autumn. 
The  priests  examined  all  the  Runic  books,  the  bards  looked 
through  their  store  of  lays  and  tales,  and  yet  they  could  find 
no  record  of  the  like.  Biorn  and  Sintram  braved  the  tempest; 
but  during  the  few  hours  in  which  Folko  and  Gabrielle  show- 
ed themselves,  the  father  and  son  were  always  in  the  castle,  in 
respectful  attendance  upon  them  ;  the  rest  of  the  day — nay, 
even  frequently,  the  whole  night  long,  they  rushed  through  the 
forests  and  over  the  rocks  in  pursuit  of  bears.  Folko,  the 
while,  summoned  to  his  aid  all  the  brightness  of  his  fancy,  all 
the  courtly  grace  he  was  endowed  with,  in  ord'^r  to  make  Ga- 
brielle forget  that  she  was  living  in  this  wild  castlfi,  and  that  the 
long  hard  northern  winter  was  setting  in,  which  would  keep  her 
there  an  ice-bound  prisoner  for  many  a  month.  Som^^t^mes  he 
would  relate  t'les  of  deep  interest ;  then  he  would  play  the 


cii\r.  XVI. ] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


181 


liveliest  airs  to  induce  Gabrielle  to  tread  a  measure  with  her 
attendants ;  then,  again,  handing  his  lute  to  one  of  the  women, 
he  would  himself  take  a  part  in  the  dance,  never  failing  to  ex- 
press by  his  gestures  his  homage  end  devotion  to  his  lady. 
Another  time  he  would  have  the  spacious  halls  of  the  castle 
prepared  for  his  armed  retainers  to  go  through  their  warlike 
exercises  and  trials  of  strength,  and  Gabrielle  always  adjudged 
the  reward  to  the  conqueror.  Folko  often  joined  the  circle  of 
combatants ;  but  always  took  care  to  deprive  no  one  of  the  prize, 
by  confining  his  efforts  merely  to  parrying  the  blows  aimed  at 
him.  The  Norwegians,  who  stood  around  as  spectators,  used  to 
compare  him  to  the  demi-god  Baldur,  one  of  the  heroes  of, their 
old  traditions,  who  was  wont  to  let  the  darts  of.  his  companions 
be  all  hurled  against  him,  conscious  that  he  was  invulnerable, 
and  trusting  in  his  own  inherent  strength. 

At  the  close  of  one  of  these  martial  exercises,  old  Rolf  ad- 
vanced towards  Folko,  and  beckoning  him  with  an  humble  look, 
he  said  softly :  "  They  call  you  Baldur  the  brave,  the  good — 
and  they  are  right.  But  even  the  good  and  brave  Baldur  did 
not  escape  death.  Take  heed  to  yourself"  Folko  looked  at 
him  with  surprise.  "  Not  that  I  know  of  any  treacherous 
design  against  you,"  continued  the  old  man  ;  "  or  that  I  can 
even  foresee  the  likelihood  of  any  being  formed.  God  forbid 
that  a  Norwegian  should  feel  such  a  fear.  But  when  you 
stand  before  me  in  all  the  brightness  of  your  glory,  the  fleeting- 
ness of  everything  earthly  is  brought  strongly  to  my  mind,  and 
I  cannot  refrain  from  saying,  '  Take  heed,  noble  baron !  oh, 
take  heed !  There  is  nothing,  however  great,  which  does  not 
come  to  an  end.' " 

"  Those  are  wise  and  pious  thoughts,"  replied  Folko,  calmly, 
"and  I  will  treasure  them  in  my  inmost  heart." 

The  good  Rolf  spen:  frequently  some  time  with  Folko  and 
Gabrielle,  and  seemed  to  form  a  connecting  link  between  the 
two  widely-differing  parties  in  the  castle.  For  how  could  he 
have  ever  forsaken  his  own  Sintram  !  It  was  only  in  their  wild 
hunting  expeditions,  when  they  had  no  regard  to  the  storms  and 


182 


SINIRAM, 


[chap.  XVI. 


tempests  which  were  raging,  that  he  no  longer  was  able  to  fol- 
low his  young  lord. 

At  length  the  icy  reign  of  winter  began  in  all  its  glory. 
The  season  was  sufficient  of  itself  to  prevent  a  return  to  Noi- 
mandy  being  thought  of,  and  therefore  the  storm  which  had 
been  raised  by  magical  art,  was  lulled.  The  hills  and  valleys 
shone  brilliantly  in  their  white  attire  of  snow,  and  Folko  used 
sometimes,  with  skates  on  his  feet,  to  draw  his  lady  in  a  .tight 
sledge  over  the  glittering  frozen  lakes  and  streams.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  bear-hunts  of  the  lord  of  the  castle  and  his  son 
assumed  a  still  more  desperate  and  to  them  enjoyable  asi.(ect. 

About  this  time, — when  Christmas  was  drawing  near,  and 
Sintram  was  seeking  to  overpower  his  apprehensions  of  the 
fearful  dreams  which  were  wont  to  trouble  him  then,  by  the 
most  daring  expedition?, — about  this  time,  Folko  and  Gabrielle 
chanced  to  be  standing  together  on  one  of  the  terraces  of  the 
castle.  The  evening  was  mild ;  the  snow-clad  fields  were  glow- 
ing in  the  red  light  of  the  setting  sun ;  from  below  there  were 
heard  men's  voices  sinsfino-  song-s  of  ancient  heroic  times,  while 
they  worked  in  the  armourer's  forge.  At  last  the  songs  died 
away,  the  beating  of  hammers  ceased,  and  without  the  speakers 
being  visible,  or  there  being  any  possibility  of  distinguishing 
them  by  their  voices,  the  following  discourse  was  distinctly 
heard  : — 

"  Who  is  the  bravest  amongst  all  those  whose  race  derives  its 
origin  from  our  renowned  land  ?" 
"  It  is  Folko  of  Montfau?on." 

"  Rightly  said ;  but,  tell  me,  is  there  any  danger  from  which 
i  en  this  bold  baron  draws  back  ?" 

"  In  truth  there  is  one  thing, — and  we  who  have  never  Lft 
Ncrway,  face  it  quite  willingly  and  joyfully." 

«  And  that  is  ?" 

"  A  bear-hunt  in  winter,  over  trackless  plains  of  snow,  down 
frightful  ice-covered  precipices." 

"  Truly  thou  answerest  aright,  my  comrade.  He  who  knows 
not  how  to  flisten  our  skates  on  his  feet,  how  to  turn  in  them  to 


CHAP.  XVI.'' 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


163 


the  right  or  left  at  a  moment's  warning,  he  may  he  a  valiant 
knight  in  other  respects,  hut  he  had  better  keep  away  from  our 
hunting  parties,  and  remain  with  his  timid  wife  in  her  apart- 
ments." At  which  the  speakers  were  heard  to  laugh  as  if 
well  pleased,  and  then  to  betake  themselves  again  to  their  ar- 
mourers' work. 

Folko  stood  long  buried  in  thought.  A  glow  beyond  that  of 
the  evening  sky  reddened  his  cheek.  Gabrielle  also  remained 
silent,  revolving  in  her  mind  that  for  which  she  was  unable  to 
find  words.  At  last  she  took  courage,  and  embracing  her  be- 
loved, she  said  :  "  To-morrow  you  will  go  forth  to  hunt  the 
bear,  will  you  not  ?  and  you  will  bring  the  spoils  of  the  chase 
to  your  lady 

The  knight  gave  a  joyful  sign  of  assent ;  and  the  rest  of  the 
evening  was  spent  in  dances  and  music. 


184 


SINTRAM, 


^CHAP.  XVIl 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

"  See,  my  noble  lord,"  said  Sintram  the  next  nnrning,  when 
Folko  had  expressed  his  wish  of  going  out  w^ith  him,  "  these 
skates  of  ours  give  such  wings  to  our  course  that  we  go  down 
the  mountain-side  more  swiftly  than  the  wind,  and  even  in  go- 
ing up  again  we  are  too  quick  for  any  one  to  be  able  to  pursue 
us,  and  on  the  plains  no  horse  can  keep  up  w^ith  us,  and  yet  they 
can  only  be  worn  with  safety  by  those  who  are  well  practised. 
It  seems  as  though  some  strange  spirit  dwelt  in  them,  which  is 
fearfully  dangerous  to  any  that  have  not  learnt  the  manage- 
ment of  them  in  their  childhood." 

Folko  answered  somewhat  proudly :  "  Do  you  suppose  that 
this  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  been  amongst  your  mountains  ? 
Years  ago  I  have  joined  in  this  sport,  and,  thank  Heaven  !  there 
is  no  knightly  exercise  which  does  not  speedily  become  familiar 
to  me." 

Sintram  did  not  venture  to  make  any  further  objections,  and 
stijl  less  did  old  Biorn.  They  both  felt  relieved  when  they  saw 
with  what  skill  and  ease  Folko  buckled  the  skates  on  his  feet, 
without  suffering  any  one  to  assist  him.  This  day  they  hunted 
up  the  mountain,  in  pursuit  of  a  fierce  bear  which  had  often 
before  escaped  from  them.  Before  long  it  was  necessary  that 
they  should  separate  into  different  parties,  and  Sintram  offered 
himself  as  companion  to  Folko,  who,  touched  by  the  humble 
manner  of  the  youth,  and  his  devotion  to  him,  forgot  all  that 
had  disturbed  him  latterly  in  the  pale,  altered  being  before  him, 
and  agreed  heartily  to  his  proposal.  As  now  they  continued  to 
climb  higher  and  higher  up  the  mountain,  and  saw  from  many 
a  giddy  height  the  rocks  and  crags  below  them  looking  like  a 
vast  expanse  of  sea  suddenly  turned  into  ice  whilst  tossed  by  a 
violent  tempest  the  noble  Montfau^on  drew  his  breath  more 


Cli\P.  XVII.] 


AND  lilo  COMPANIONS. 


185 


freely.  He  poured  forth  war-songs  and  love-songs  in  the  clear 
mountain  air,  and  the  startled  echoes  repeated  from  rock  to 
rock  the  lays  of  his  southern  home.  He  sprang  lightly  from 
one  precipice  to  another,  making  use  skilfully  of  the  staff  with 
which  he  was  furnished  for  support,  and  turning  now  to  the 
right,  now  to  the  left,  as  the  fancy  seized  him,  so  that  Sintram 
was  fain  to  exchange  his  former  anxiety  for  a  wondering  ad- 
ipiiration,  and  the  hunters,  whose  eyes  had  never  been  taken  off 
the  baron,  burst  forth  with  loud  applause,  proclaiming  far  and 
wide  this  fresh  proof  of  his  prowess. 

The  good  fortune  which  usually  accompanied  Folko's  deeds 
of  arms,  seemed  still  unwilling  to  leave  him.  After  a  short 
search,  he  and  Sintram  found  distinct  traces  of  the  savage  ani- 
mal they  were  pursuing,  and  with  beating  hearts  they  followed 
the  track  so  swiftly,  that  even  a  winged  enemy  would  have  been 
unable  to  escape  from  them.  But  the  creature  whom  they 
sought  did  not  attempt  a  flight — he  lay  sulkily  ensconced  in  u 
cavern  near  the  top  of  a  steep  precipitous  rock,  infuriated  by 
the  shouts  of  the  hunters,  and  only  waiting  in  his  lazy  fury 
for  some  one  to  be  bold  enough  to  climb  up  to  his  retreat,  that 
he  might  tear  him  to  pieces.  Folko  and  Sintram  had  now 
reached  the  foot  of  this  rock,  the  rest  of  the  hunters  being 
dispersed  over  the  far-extending  plain.  The  track  led  the 
two  companions  up  the  rock,  and  they  set  about  climbing  on 
the  opposite  sides  of  it,  that  they  might  be  the  more  sure  of  not 
missing  their  prey.  Folko  reached  the  lonely  topmost  point 
first,  and  cast  his  eyes  around.  A  wide,  boundless  tract  of 
country,  covered  with  untrodden  snow,  was  spread  before 
him,  melting  in  the  distance  into  the  lowering  clouds  of  the 
gloomy  evening  sky.  He  almost  thought  that  he  must  have 
missed  the  traces  of  the  fearful  animal ;  when  close  beside 
him  from  a  cleft  in  the  rock,  issued  a  long-  g-rowl.  and  a  huo-e 
black  bear  appeared  on  the  snow,  standing  on  its  hind  legs,  and 
with  glaring  eyes  it  advanced  towards  the  baron.  Sintram  the 
while  was  struggling  in  vain  to  make  his  way  up  the  rock 


186 


SINTRAM, 


[CHAP.  XXli. 


against  the  masses  of  snow  which  were  continually  slipping 
down  upon  him. 

Rejoicing  in  an  adventure  such  as  he  had  not  encountered 
for  yearSj  and  which  now  appeared  new  to  him,  Folko  of  Mont- 
fau^on  levelled  his  hunting  spear,  and  awaited  the  attack  of  the 
wild  beast.  He  suffered  it  to  approach  so  near  that  its  fearful 
claws  were  almost  upon  him  ;  then  he  made  a  thrust,  and  the 
spear  was  buried  deep  in  the  bear's  breast.  But  the  furious 
beast  still  pressed  on  with  a  fierce  growl,  kept  up  on  its  hind 
legs  by  the  cross  iron  of  the  spear,  and  the  knight  was  forced 
to  use  all  his  strength  not  to  lose  his  footing  and  to  resist  the 
SAvage  assault ;  and  the  whole  time  there  was  the  grim  face  of 
the  bear  all  covered  with  blood,  close  before  him,  and  sounding 
in  his  ear  was  its  deep  savage  growl,  which  told  of  its  thirst  for 
blood,  even  in  the  midst  of  its  death-struggles.  At  length  the 
bear's  resistance  grew  weaker,  and  the  dark  blood  streamed 
upon  the  snow;  one  powerful  thrust  hurled  him  backwards 
over  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  At  the  same  instant,  Sintram 
stood  by  the  baron  of  Montfau9on.  Folko  said,  drawing  a  deep 
breath  :  "  But  I  have  not  yet  the  prize  in  my  hands,  and  have 
it  I  must,  since  fortune  has  given  me  a  claim  to  it.  Look,  one 
of  my  skates  seems  to  be  out  of  order.  Do  you  think,  Sintram, 
that  it  is  in  such  a  state  as  not  to  hinder  me  in  sliding  down 
to  the  foot  of  the  precipice  ?" 

"  Let  me  go  instead,"  said  Sintram.  "  I  will  bring  you  the 
head  and  the  claws  of  the  bear." 

"  A  true  knight,"  replied  Folko  with  some  displeasure,  "  never 
leaves  his  work  to  be  finished  by  another.  What  I  ask  is, 
whether  my  skate  is  still  fit  for  use  ?" 

As  Sintram  bent  down  to  look,  and  was  on  the  point  of  say- 
ing "  No !"  he  suddenly  heard  a  voice  close  to  him,  saying : 
"  Why,  yes  !  to  be  sure ;  there  is  no  doubt  about  it," 

Folko  thought  that  Sintram  had  spoken,  and  darted  off  with 
the  swiftness  of  an  arrow,  whilst  his  companion  looked  up  in 
great  surprise.  The  abhorred  features  of  the  Little  Master 
met  his  eyes.    As  he  was  going  to  address  him  with  angry 


CHAP.  XVM.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


187 


words,  he  heard  the  sound  of  the  baron's  fearful  fall  down  the 
precipice,  and  he  stood  still  in  silent  horror.  There  was  a 
breathless  silence  also  in  the  abyss  below. 

"  Now,  why  do  you  delay  ?"  said  the  Little  Master,  after  a 
pause.  "  He  is  dashed  to  pieces.  Go  back  to  the  castle,  and 
take  the  fair  Helen  to  yourself" 

Sintram  shuddered.  Then  his  detestable  companion  began 
to  extol  Gabrielle's  charms  in  such  glowing,  deceiving  words, 
that  the  heart  of  the  youth  swelled  with  a  torrent  of  emotions 
he  had  never  before  known.  He  only  thought  of  him  who  was 
now  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  as  of  an  obstacle  removed  from 
his  way  to  Paradise ;  he  turned  towards  the  castle. 

But  a  cry  was  heard  below  :  "  Help  !  help  !  my  comrade !  I 
am  yet  alive,  but  I  am  sorely  wounded." 

Sintram's  will  was  changed,  and  he  called  to  the  baron :  "  I 
am  coming." 

But  the  Little  Master  said  :  "  Nothing  can  be  done  to  help 
king  Menelaus  ;  and  the  fair  Helen  knows  it  already.  She 
is  only  waiting  for  knight  Paris  to  comfort  her."  And  with 
detestable  craft  he  wove  in  that  tale  with  what  was  actually 
happening,  bringing  in  the  most  highly  wrought  praises  of  the 
lovely  Gabrielle ;  and  alas !  the  blinded  youth  barkened  to  him, 
and  fled  away !  Again  he  heard  far  off  the  baron's  voice  call- 
ing to  him  :  "  Knight  Sintram,  knight  Sintram,  you  on  whom  I 
bestowed  that  noble  order,  haste  to  me  and  help  me !  The 
she-bear  and  her  whelps  will  be  upon  me,  and  I  cannot  use  my 
right  arm!  knight  Sintram,  knight  Sintram,  haste  to  help 
me!" 

His  cries  were  overpowered  by  the  furious  speed  with  which 
the  two  were  carried  along  on  their  skates,  and  by  the  evil 
words  of  the  Little  Master,  who  was  mocking  at  the  late  proud 
bearing  of  king  Menelaus  towards  the  miserable  Sintram.  At 
last  he  shouted :  "  Good  luck  to  you,  she-bear !  good  luck  to 
your  whelps !  There  is  a  glorious  meal  for  you !  Now  you 
will  destroy  the  fear  of  Heathendom,  him  at  whose  name  the 
Moorish  women  weep,  the  mighty  Baron  of  Montfau9on.  Nevei 


188 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  x\n. 


again,  oh !  dainty  knight,  will  you  shout  at  the  head  of  your 
troops,  '  Mountjoy  St.  Denys !' "  But  scarce  had  this  holj 
name  passed  the  lips  of  the  Little  Master,  than  he  set  up  a 
howl  of  anguish,  writhing  himself  with  horrible  contortions,  and 
wringing  his  hands,  and  he  ended  by  disappearing  in  a  storm 
of  snow  which  then  arose. 

Sintram  planted  his  staff  firmly  in  the  ground,  and  stopped. 
How  strangely  did  the  wide  expanse  of  snow,  the  distant  moun- 
tains rising  above  it.  and  the  dark  green  fir  woods, — how 
strangely  did  they  all  look  at  him  in  cold  reproachful  si- 
lence !  He  felt  as  if  he  must  sink  under  the  weight  of  his 
sorrow  and  his  guilt.  The  bell  of  a  distant  hermitage  came 
floating  sadly  over  the  plain.  With  a  burst  of  tears  he  ex- 
claimed, as  the  darkness  grew  thicker  around  him:  "My  mo- 
ther !  my  mother !  I  had  once  a  beloved  tender  mother,  and 
she  said  I  was  a  good  child !"  A  ray  of  comfort  came  to  him 
as  if  brought  on  an  angel's  wing ;  perhaps  Montfaufon  was  not 
yet  dead  !  and  he  flew  like  lightning  along  the  path  which  led 
back  to  the  steep  rock.  When  he  got  to  the  fearful  place,  he 
stooped  and  looked  anxiously  down  the  precipice.  The  moon 
which  had  just  risen  in  full  majesty  helped  him  with  her  light. 
The  knight  of  Montfaufon,  pale  and  covered  with  blood,  was 
supporting  himself  on  one  knee,  and  leaning  against  the  rock — 
his  right  arm,  which  had  been  crushed  in  his  fall,  hung  power- 
less at  his  side  ;  it  was  plain  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  draw 
his  good  sword  out  of  the  scabbard.  But,  nevertheless,  he  was 
keeping  the  bear  and  her  young  ones  at  bay  by  his  bold  threat- 
ening looks,  so  that  they  only  crept  round  him,  growling  angri- 
ly ;  every  moment  ready  for  a  fierce  attack,  but  as  often  driven 
back  affrighted  at  the  majestic  air  by  which  he  conquered  even 
when  defenceless. 

"  Oh  !  what  a  knight  would  here  have  perished !"  groaned 
Sintram,  "and  through  whose  guilt?"  At  that  instant  his  spear 
flew  with  so  true  an  aim  that  the  bear  fell  weltering  in  her 
blood ;  the  young  ones  ran  away  howling. 

The  baron  looked  up  with  surprise.    His  countenance  beam 


CHAP.  XVII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


189 


ed  as  the  light  of  the  moon  fell  upon  it,  with  a  grave  and  stern, 
yet  mild  expression,  like  some  angelic  vision.  He  made  a  sign 
to  Sintram  to  come  to  him,  and  the  youth  slid  down  the  side  of 
the  precipice,  full  of  anxious  haste.  He  was  going  to  attend  to 
the  wounded  knight,  but  Folko  said :  "  First  cut  off  the  head 
and  claws  of  the  bear  which  I  slew.  I  promised  to  bring  the 
spoils  of  the  chase  to  my  lovely  Gabrielle,  Then  come  to  me, 
and  bind  up  my  wounds.  My  right  arm  is  broken."  Sintraia 
obeyed  the  baron's  commands.  When  the  tokens  of  victory  had 
been  secured,  and  the  broken  arm  bound  up,  Folko  desired  the 
youth  to  help  him  back  to  the  castle. 

"Oh  Heavens!"  said  Sintram  in  a  low  voice,  "if  I  dared  to 
look  in  your  face !  or  only  knew  how  to  come  near  you  !" 

You  were  indeed  going  on  in  an  evil  course,"  said  Mont- 
faufon,  gravely ;  "  but  how  could  we,  any  of  us,  stand  before 
God,  did  we  not  bring  repentance  with  us !  Anyhow  you  have 
now  saved  my  life,  and  let  that  thought  cheer  your  heart." 

The  youth  with  tenderness  and  strength  supported  "-.he  baron'a 
left  arm,  and  they  both  went  their  way  silently  in  the  moon- 
light 


190 


SINTRAM, 


[chap,  sviu 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Sounds  of  wailing  were  heard  from  the  castle  as  they  ap 
proached,  the  chapel  was  solemnly  lighted  up ,  within  it 
knelt  Gabrielle,  lamenting  for  the  death  of  the  knight  of  Mont- 
fau^on. 

But  ho  w  quickly  was  the  scene  changed,  when  the  noble 
baron,  pale  indeed,  and  wounded,  yet  having  escaped  the 
dangers  that  beset  his  life,  stood  smiling  at  the  entrance  of  the 
holy  building,  and  said  in  a  low,  gentle  voice :  "  Look  up, 
Gabrielle,  and  be  not  affrighted  ;  for  by  the  honour  of  my  race, 
your  knight  still  lives."  Oh!  with  what  joy  did  Gabrielle's 
eyes  sparkle,  as  she  turned  to  her  knight  and  then  raised  them 
again  to  heaven ;  the  tears  which  still  streamed  from  them 
having  now  their  source  in  the  deep  joy  of  thankfulness !  With 
the  help  of  two  pages,  Folko  knelt  down  beside  her,  and  they 
both  offered  up  a  silent  prayer  of  thanksgiving  for  their  present 
happiness. 

When  they  all  left  the  chapel,  the  wounded  knight  being 
tenderly  supported  by  his  lady,  Sintram  was  standing  without 
in  the  darkness,  himself  as  gloomy  as  the  night,  and  like  a  bird 
of  the  night  shunning  the  sight  of  man.  Yet  he  came  trembling 
forward  into  the  torch-light,  laid  the  bear's  head  and  claws  at 
the  feet  of  Gabrielle,  and  said :  "  The  noble  Folko  of  Pvlont- 
fau9on  presents  the  spoils  of  to-day's  chase  to  his  lady." 

The  Norwegians  burst  forth  with  shouts  of  joyful  surprise 
at  the  stranger  knight,  who  in  the  very  first  hunting  expedition 
had  slain  the  most  fearful  and  dangerous  beast  of  their  moun- 
tains. 

Then  Folko  looked  around  with  a  smile  as  he  said  :  "  And 
now  none  of  you  must  jeer  at  me,  if  I  stay  at  home  for  a  short 
time  with  my  timid  wife." 


CHAP.  XVIII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


191 


Those  who  the  day  before  had  talked  together  in  the  armour- 
er's forge,  came  out  from  the  crowd,  and  bowing  low,  they  re- 
plied :  "  Noble  baron,  who  could  have  thought  that  there  was 
no  knightly  exercise  in  the  whole  world,  in  which  you  would 
not  show  yourself  far  above  all  other  men  ?" 

"  The  pupil  of  old  Sir  Hugh  may  be  somewhat  trusted,"  an- 
swered Folko  kindly.  "  But  now,  you  bold  northern  warriors, 
bestow  some  praises  also  on  my  deliverer,  who  saved  me  from 
the  claws  of  the  she-bear,  when  I  was  lying  under  the  rock 
wounded  by  my  fall." 

He  pointed  to  Sintram,  and  the  general  shout  was  again 
raised,  and  old  Rolf,  his  eyes  dim  with  tears  of  joy,  bent  his 
head  over  his  foster-son's  hand.  But  Sintram  drew  back  shud- 
dering. 

"  Did  you  but  know,"  he  said,  "  whom  you  see  before  you, 
all  your  spears  would  be  aimed  at  my  heart ;  and  perhaps  that 
would  be  the  best  thing  that  could  befal  me.  But  I  spare  the 
honour  of  my  father  and  of  his  race,  and  for  this  time  I  will 
not  make  a  confession.  Only  this  much  must  you  hear,  noble 
warriors." 

"  Young  man,"  interrupted  Folko,  with  a  reproving  look, 
"  already  again  so  wild  and  fierce?  I  desire  that  you  will  hold 
your  peace  about  your  dreaming  fancies." 

Sintram  was  silenced  for  a  moment,  but  hardly  had  Folko 
begun  to  move  towards  the  steps  of  the  castle,  than  he  cried 
out :  "  Oh  no,  no,  noble  wounded  knight,  stay  yet  awhile  ;  I 
will  serve  you  in  everything  that  your  heart  can  desire  ;  but 
this  once  I  cannot  obey  you.  Brave  warriors,  you  must  and 
shall  know  so  much  as  this :  I  am  no  longer  worthy  to  live  un- 
der the  same  roof  with  the  noble  baron  of  Montfau^on  and  his 
angelic  lady  Gabrielle.  And  you,  my  aged  father,  farewell : 
take  no  further  heed  of  me.  I  intend  to  live  in  the  stone  for- 
tress on  the  rocks  of  the  Moon,  until  a  change  of  some  kind 
comes  over  me." 

There  was  that  in  his  way  of  speaking  against  which  no  one 
dared  to  urge  any  opposition,  not  even  Folko  himself. 


192 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  XVIII. 


The  wild  Biorn  bowed  his  head  humbly,  and  said  :  "  Do  ac- 
cording to  your  pleasure,  my  poor  son ;  for  I  much  fear  that 
you  are  right." 

Then  Sin  tram  walked  solemnly  and  silently  through  the  cas- 
tle gate,  followed  by  the  good  Rolf  Gabrieile  led  her  ex- 
hausted lord  up  to  their  apartments. 


CHAP.  XIX.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


193 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

That  was  a  mournful  journey  on  which  the  youth  and  his  aged 
foster-father  went  towards  the  Rocks  of  the  Moon,  through  the 
wild  tangled  paths  of  the  snow-covered  vallies.  Rolf  from  time 
to  time  sang  some  verses  of  hymns,  in  which  comfort  and  peace 
were  promised  to  the  penitent  sinner,  and  Sintram  thanked  him 
for  them  with  looks  of  grateful  sadness.  Otherwise  neither  of 
them  spoke  a  word. 

At  length,  when  the  dawn  of  day  was  approaching,  Sintram 
broke  silence  by  saying :  "  Who  are  those  two,  sitting  yonder 
by  the  frozen  stream  ?  A  tall  man,  and  a  little  one.  Their 
own  wild  hearts  must  have  driven  them  also  forth  into  the  wil- 
derness. Rolf,  do  you  know  them  ?  The  sight  of  them  makes 
me  shudder." 

Sir,"  answered  the  old  man,  "your  disturbed  mind  deceives 
you.  Where  you  are  looking,  there  stands  a  lofty  fir-tree,  and 
the  old  weather-beaten  stump  of  an  oak,  half-covered  with  snow, 
which  gives  them  a  somewhat  strange  appearance.  There  are 
no  men  sitting  yonder." 

"  But,  Rolf,  look  there  !  Look  again  carefully !  Now  they 
move,  they  whisper  together." 

"  Sir,  the  morning  breeze  moves  the  branches,  and  whistles 
in  the  sharp  pine-leaves,  and  in  the  yellow  oak-leaves,  and  rus- 
tles the  crisp  snow." 

"  Rolf,  now  they  are  both  coming  towards  us.  Now  they 
are  standing  before  us ;  they  are  quite  close." 

"  Sir,  it  is  we  who  get  nearer  to  them  as  we  walk  on,  and 
the  setting  moon  throws  such  long  gaint-like  shadows  over  the 
plain." 

"  Good  evening  I"  said  a  hollow  voice,  and  Sintram  knew  it 
14 


194 


SINTRAM, 


I^CHAP.  XIX. 


was  the  crazy  pilgrim,  near  to  whom  stood  the  malignant  dwarf, 
looking  more  hideous  than  ever. 

"  You  are  right,  Sir  knight^"  whispered  Rolf,  as  he  drew  back 
behind  Sintram,  and  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross  on  his  breast 
and  forehead. 

The  bewildered  youth,  however,  advanced  towards  the  two 
figures,  and  said  :  "  You  have  always  taken  wonderful  pleasure 
in  being  my  companions.  What  do  you  expect  will  come  of  it? 
And  do  you  choose  to  go  now  with  me  to  the  stone  fortress? 
There  1  will  tend  you,  poor  pale  pilgrim  ;  and  as  to  you,  fright- 
ful Master,  most  evil  dwarf,  I  will  make  you  shorter  by  th»'. 
head,  to  reward  you  for  your  deeds  yesterday." 

"  That  would  be  a  fine  thing,"  sneered  the  Little  Master  ; 
"  and  perhaps  you  imagine  that  you  would  be  doing  a  great 
service  to  the  whole  world?  And  indeed,  who  knows?  Some- 
thing might  be  gained  by  it !  Only,  poor  wretch,  you  cannot 
do  it." 

The  pilgrim  meantime  was  waving  his  pale  head  to  and  fro 
thoughtfully,  saying :  "  I  believe  truly,  that  you  would  willing- 
ly have  me,  and  I  would  go  to  you  willingly,  but  I  may  not 
yet.  Have  patience  awhile ;  you  will  yet  surely  see  me  come, 
but  at  a  distant  time,  and,  first,  we  must  again  visit  your  father 
together,  and  then  also  you  will  learn  to  call  me  by  my  right 
name,  my  poor  friend." 

"  Beware  of  disappointing  me  again !"  said  Little  Master  to 
the  pilgrim  in  a  threatening  voice ;  but  he,  pointing  with  his 
long,  shrivelled  hand  towards  the  sun,  which  was  just  now 
rising,  said :  "  Stop  either  that  sun  or  me,  if  you  can  !" 

Then  the  first  rays  fell  on  the  snow,  and  Little  Master  ran 
down  a  precipice,  scolding  as  he  went,  but  the  pilgrim  w^alked 
on  in  the  bright  beams,  calmly  and  with  great  solemnity,  to- 
wards a  neighboring  castle  on  the  mountain.  It  was  not  long 
before  its  chapel  bell  was  heard  tolling  for  the  dead. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,"  whispered  the  good  Rolf  to  his  knight, 
"  for  Heaven's  sake,  Sir  Sintram,  what  kind  of  companions 
have  you  here  ?    One  of  them  cannot  bear  the  light  of  God's 


CHAP.  XIX.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


195 


blessed  sun,  and  the  other  has  no  sooner  set  a  foot  in  a  dwelling, 
than  the  passing-bell  is  heard  from  thence.  Could  he  have  been 
a  murderer?" 

"  I  do  not  think  that,"  said  Sintram.  "  He  seemed  to  me  the 
best  of  the  two.  But  it  is  a  strange  wilfulness  of  his  not  to 
come  with  me.  Did  I  not  invite  him  kindly?  I  believe  that 
he  can  sing  well,  and  he  should  have  sung  to  me  some  gentle 
lullaby.  Since  my  mother  has  lived  in  a  cloister,  no  one  sings 
lullabies  to  me  any  more." 

At  this  tender  recollection  his  eyes  were  bedewed  with  tears. 
But  he  did  not  himself  know  what  he  had  said  besides,  for  there 
was  wildness  and  confusion  in  his  spirit.  They  arrived  at  the 
Rocks  of  the  Moon,  they  mounted  up  to  the  stone  fortress.  The 
castellan,  an  old,  gloomy  man,  who  was  all  the  more  devoted 
to  the  j^oung  knight  from  his  dark  melancholy  and  wild  deeds, 
hastened  lo  lower  the  drawbridge.  Greetings  were  exchanged 
in  silence,  and  in  silence  did  Sintram  enter,  and  those  joyless 
gates  closed  with  a  crash  behind  the  future  recluse. 


196 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  XX. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

YeSj  truly,  a  recluse,  or  at  least  something  like  it,  did  poor 
Sintram  now  become!  For  towards  the  time  of  the  appi cach- 
ing Christmas  Festival  his  fearful  dreams  came  over  him,  and 
seized  him  so  fiercely,  that  all  the  esquires  and  servants  fled 
with  shrieks  out  of  the  castle,  and  would  never  venture  back 
again.  No  one  remained  with  him  except  Rolf  and  the  old  cas- 
tellan. After  a  while,  indeed,  Sintram  became  calm,  but  he 
went  about  looking  so  pallid  and  subdued,  that  he  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  wandering  corpse.  No  comforting  of  the 
good  Rolf,  no  devout  soothing  lays,  were  of  any  avail ;  and 
the  castellan,  with  his  fierce,  scarred  features,  his  head  almost 
entirely  bald  from  a  huge  sword-cut,  his  stubborn  silence, 
seemed  like  a  yet  darker  shadow  of  the  miserable  knight.  Rolf 
often  thought  of  going  to  summon  the  holy  chaplain  of  Dron- 
theim,  but  how  could  he  have  left  his  lord  alone  with  the 
gloomy  castellan,  a  man  who  at  all  times  raised  in  him  a  secret 
horror.  Biorn  had  long  had  this  wild  strange  warrior  in  his 
service,  and  honoured  him  on  account  of  his  unshaken  fidelity 
and  his  fearless  courage,  without  the  knight  or  any  one  else 
knowing  whence  the  castellan  came,  or  indeed  exactly  who  he 
was.  Very  few  people  knew  by  what  name  to  call  him,  but 
that  was  the  more  needless  since  he  never  entered  into  discourse 
with  any  one.  He  was  the  castellan  of  the  stone  fortress  on  the 
Rocks  of  the  Moon,  and  nothing  more. 

Rolf  committed  his  deep  heartfelt  cares  to  the  merciful  God, 
trusting  that  He  would  soon  come  to  his  aid,  and  the  merciful 
God  did  not  fail  him.  For  on  Christmas  eve  the  bell  at  the 
drawbridge  sounded,  and  Rolf,  looking  over  the  battlements,  saw 
the  chaplain  of  Drontheim  standing  there,  with  a  companion 
indeed  that  surprised  him, — for  close  beside  him  appeared  the 


CHAP.  XX.]  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  197 


crazy  pilgrim,  and  the  dead  men's  bones  on  his  dark  mantle 
shone  very  strangely  in  the  glimmering  star-light ;  but  the  sight 
of  the  chaplain  filled  the  good  Rolf  too  full  of  joy  to  leave 
room  for  any  doubt  in  his  mind — for,  thought  he,  whoever 
comes  with  him^  cannot  but  be  welcome !  And  so  he  let  them 
both  in  with  respectful  haste,  and  ushered  them  up  to  the  hall 
where  Sintram,  pale  and  with  a  fixed  look,  w^as  sitting  under 
the  light  of  one  flickering  lamp,  Rolf  was  obliged  to  support 
and  assist  the  crazy  pilgrim  up  the  stairs,  for  he  was  quite  be- 
numbed with  cold. 

"  I  bring  you  a  greeting  from  your  mother,"  said  the  chap- 
lain, as  he  came  in,  and  immediately  a  sweet  smile  passed  over 
the  young  knight's  countenance,  and  its  deadly  pallidness  gave 
nlace  to  a  bright,  soft  glow. 

"  Oh  Heaven !"  murmured  he,  "  does  then  my  mother  yet 
live,  and  does  she  care  to  know  anything  about  me  ?" 

"  She  is  endowed  with  wonderful  presentiment  of  the  future," 
1  eplied  the  chaplain,  "  and  all  that  you  ought  either  to  do  or 
to  leave  undone  is  pictured  in  various  ways  in  her  mind,  dur- 
ing a  half-waking  trance,  but  with  most  faithful  exactness. 
Now  she  knows  of  your  deep  sorrow,  and  she  sends  me,  the 
Father  Confessor  of  her  convent,  to  comfort  you,  but  at  the 
same  time  to  warn  you,  for,  as  she  affirms,  and  as  I  am  also 
inclined  to  think,  many  strange  and  heavy  trials  lie  before 
you." 

Sintram  bowed  himself  towards  the  chaplain  with  his  arms 
crossed  over  his  breast,  and  said  with  a  gentle  smile  :  "  Much 
have  I  been  favoured,  more,  a  thousand  times  more,  than  1 
could  have  dared  to  hope  in  my  best  hours,  by  this  greeting 
from  my  mother,  and  your  visit,  reverend  sir ;  and  all  after  fall- 
ing more  fearfully  low  than  I  had  ever  fallen  before.  The  mercy 
of  the  Lord  is  great,  and  how  heavy  soever  may  be  the  weight 
and  punishment  which  he  may  send,  I  trust  with  his  grace  to 
be  able  to  bear  it." 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  the  castellan  came  in  with  a 
torch  in  his  hand,  the  red  glare  of  which  made  his  face  look 


198 


SINTRAM, 


:he  colour  of  blood.  He  cast  a  terrified  glance  at  the  crazy 
pilgrim,  who  had  just  sunk  back  in  a  swoon,  and  was  supported 
on  his  seat  and  tended  by  Rolf;  then  he  stared  with  astonish- 
ment at  the  chaplain,  and  at  last  murmured  :  "  A  strange  meet- 
ing !  I  believe  that  the  hour  for  confession  and  reconciliation  is 
now  arrived." 

"  I  believe  so,  too,"  replied  the  priest,  who  had  heard  his  low 
whisper  ;  "  this  seems  to  be  truly  a  day  rich  in  grace  and  peace. 
That  poor  man  yonder,  whom  I  found  half  frozen  by  the  way, 
would  make  a  full  confession  to  me  at  once,  before  he  followed 
me  to  a  place  of  shelter.  Do  as  he  has  done,  my  dark-browed 
warrior,  and  delay  not  your  good  purpose  for  one  instant." 

Thereupon  he  left  the  room  with  the  castellan,  who  gave  a 
sign  of  compliance,  but  he  turned  back  to  say :  "  Sir  knight, 
and  your  esquire !  take  good  care  the  while  of  my  sick 
charge." 

Sintram  and  Rolf  did  according  to  the  chaplain's  desire,  and 
when  at  length  their  cordials  made  the  pilgrim  open  his  eyes 
once  again,  the  young  knight  said  to  him  with  a  friendly  smile 
"  Do  you  see  ?  you  are  come  to  visit  me  after  all.  Why  did 
you  refuse  me  when  a  few  nights  ago  I  asked  you  so  earnestly 
to  come  ?  Perhaps  I  may  have  spoken  wildly  and  hastily.  Did 
that  scare  you  away  ?" 

A  sudden  expression  of  fear  came  over  the  pilgrim's  counter 
nance,  but  soon  he  again  looked  up  at  Sintram  with  an  air  of 
gentle  humility,  saying :  "  Oh  my  dear  lord,  I  am  most  entirely 
devoted  to  you — only  never  speak  to  me  of  former  passages  be- 
tween you  and  me.  I  am  terrified  whenever  you  do  it.  For, 
my  lord,  either  I  am  mad  and  have  forgotten  all  that  is  past,  or 
that  being  has  met  you  in  the  wood,  whom  I  look  upon  as  my 
all-powerful  twin-brother." 

Sintram  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  pilgrim's  mouth,  as  he 
answered  :  "  Say  nothing  more  about  that  matter.  I  most  will- 
ingly promise  to  be  silent." 

Neither  he  nor  old  Rolf  could  understand  what  appeared  to 
them  so  awful  in  the  whole  matter ;  but  both  shuddered. 


CHAP.  XX.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


199 


After  a  short  pause,  the  pilgrim  said :  "  I  would  rather  sing 
you  a  songj  a  soft,  comforting  song.  Have  you  not  a  lute 
here  ?" 

Rolf  fetched  one,  and  the  pilgrim,  half-raising  himself  on  the 
eouch,  sang  the  following  words : — 

When  death  is  coming  near, 
When  thy  heart  shrinks  in  feeir, 

And  thy  Umbs  fail, 
Then  raise  thy  hands  and  pray 
To  Him  who  smooths  thy  way 

Through  the  dark  vale. 

Seest  thou  the  eastern  dawn, 
Hcar'st  thou  in  the  red  morn 

The  angel's  song  ? 
O  lift  thy  drooping  head 
Thou  who  in  gloom  and  dread 

Hast  lain  so  long. 

Death  comes  to  set  thee  free, 
O  meet  him  cheerily 

As  thy  true  friend. 
And  all  thy  fears  shall  cease. 
And  in  eternal  peace 

Thy  penance  end. 

"  Amen,"  said  Sintram  and  Rolf,  folding  their  hands ;  and 
whilst  the  last  chords  of  the  lute  still  resounded,  the  chaplain 
and  the  castellan  came  slowly  and  gently  into  the  room.  "  I 
bring  a  precious  Christmas  gift,"'  said  the  priest.  "  After  many 
sad  years,  hope  of  reconciliation  and  peace  of  conscience  are 
returning  to  a  noble,  but  long  dis-turbed  mind.  This  concerns 
you.  beloved  pilgrim ;  and  do  you,  my  Sintram,  with  a  joyful 
tiust  in  God,  take  encouragement  and  example  from  it." 

"More  than  twenty  years  ago,"  began  the  castellan  at  a  sign 
from  the  chaplain,  "  more  than  twenty  years  ago  I  was  a  stout 
and  active  herdsman,  and  I  drove  my  flock  up  the  mountains. 
A  young  knight  followed  me,  whom  they  called  Weigand  the 
Slender.  He  wanted  to  buy  of  me  my  fiivourite  little  lamb 
for  his  fair  bride,  and  offered  me  much  red  gold  for  it  I 


soo 


SINTRAM, 


[chap,  xx 


sturdily  refused.  The  over-boldness  of  youth  carried  us  both 
away.  A  stroke  of  his  sword  hurled  me  senseless  down  the 
precipice." 

"  Not  killed  ?"  asked  the  pilgrim  in  a  scarce  audible  voice. 

"  I  am  no  ghost,"  replied  the  castellan  somewhat  morosely ; 
and  then  after  an  earnest  look  from  the  priest  he  continued 
more  humbly :  "  I  recovered  slowly  and  in  solitude,  with  the 
help  of  remedies  which  were  easily  found  by  me,  a  herdsman, 
in  our  productive  vallies.  When  I  came  back  into  the  world, 
no  man  knew  me  with  my  scarred  face,  and  my  head  which 
had  become  bald.  I  heard  a  report  going  through  the  country, 
that,  on  account  of  this  deed  of  his.  Sir  Weigand  the  Slender 
had  been  rejected  by  his  fair  betrothed  Verena,  and  how  he 
had  pined  away,  and  she  had  wished  to  retire  into  a  convent, 
but  her  father  had  persuaded  her  to  marry  the  great  knight 
Biorn.  Then  there  came  a  fearful  thirst  for  vengeance  into 
my  heart,  and  I  disowned  my  name  and  my  kindred  and  my 
home,  and  entered  the  service  of  the  mighty  Biorn  as  a 
strange  wild  man,  in  order  that  Weigand  the  Slender  should 
always  be  deemed  a  murderer,  and  that  I  might  feed  on  his 
anguish.  So  have  I  fed  upon  it  for  all  these  long  years.  I 
have  revelled  frightfully  in  his  self-imposed  banishment,  in 
his  cheerless  return  home,  in  his  madness.  But  to-day" — and 
hot  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes — "but  to-day  God  has  broken 
the  hardness  of  my  heart ;  and  dear  Sir  Weigand,  look  upon 
yourself  no  more  as  a  murderer,  and  say  that  you  will  forgive 
me,  and  pray  for  him  who  has  done  you  so  fearful  an  injury, 

and"  Sobs  choked  his  words.    He  fell  at  the  feet  of  the 

pilgrim,  who  with  tears  of  joy  pressed  him  to  his  heart,  in 
token  of  Iv^rgiveness. 


CHAP    XXI  ] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


201 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  joy  of  this  hour  passed  from  its  first  overpowering  bright- 
ness, to  the  calm,  thoughtful  aspect  of  daily  life,  and  Weiganil, 
now  restored  to  health,  laid  aside  the  mantle  with  dead  men's 
bones,  saying:  "I  had  chosen  for  my  penance  to  carry  these 
fearful  remains  about  with  me,  in  the  idea  that  perhaps  some 
of  them  might  have  belonged  to  him  whom  I  have  murdered. 
Therefore  I  used  to  search  for  them  round  about  in  the  deep  beds 
of  the  mountain  torrents,  and  in  the  high  nests  of  the  eagles 
and  vultures.  And  while  I  was  searching  I  sometimes — could 
it  have  been  only  an  illusion  ? — I  seemed  to  meet  a  being  who 
was  very  like  myself,  but  far,  far  more  powerful,  and  yet  still 
paler  and  more  haggard." — An  imploring  look  from  Sintram 
stopped  the  flow  of  his  words.  With  a  gentle  smile,  Weigand 
bowed  towards  him,  and  said  :  "  You  know  now  all  the  deep, 
unutterably  deep  sorrow  which  preyed  upon  me.  My  fear  of 
you,  and  my  yearning  love  for  you,  are  no  longer  without  ex- 
planation to  your  kind  heart.  For,  dear  youth,  though  you 
may  be  like  your  fearful  father,  you  have  also  the  kind  gentle 
heart  of  your  mother,  and  its  reflection  brightens  your  pallid, 
stern  features,  like  the  glow  of  a  morning  sky  which  lights  up 
ice-covered  mountains  and  valleys.  But  alas  !  how  long  have 
you  lived  alone  even  amidst  your  fellow-creatures  !  And  how 
long  is  it  since  you  have  seen  your  mother,  my  dearly-loved 
Sintram  ?" 

"  I  feel,  too,  as  though  a  spring  were  gushing  up  in  the  barren 
wilderness  of  my  heart,"  replied  the  youth  ;  "and  I  should  per- 
chance be  altogether  restored,  could  1  but  keep  you  long  with 
me,  and  weep  with  you,  dear  friend.  But  I  have  that  within 
me  which  sa3:'s  that  you  will  very  soon  be  taken  from  me." 

"I  believe,  indeed,"  said  the  pilgrim,  "that  my  song  the 


202  SINTRAM, 

Other  day  was  very  nearly  my  last,  and  that  it  contained  a  pre- 
diction full  soon  to  he  accomplished  in  me.*  But,  as  ♦he  soul  of 
man  is  always  like  the  thirsty  ground,  the  more  blessings  God 
has  bestowed  on  us,  the  more  earnestly  do  we  look  out  for  new 
^  ones,  so  would  I  crave  for  one  more  ere  my  life  closes,  as  I  would 
fain  hope,  in  happiness.  Yet  indeed  it  cannot  be  granted  me," 
added  he  with  a  faltering  voice,  "  for  I  feel  myself  too  utterly 
unworthy  of  such  high  grace." 

"  But  it  will  be  granted  !"  said  the  chaplain  joyfully.  He 
that  humbleth  himself  shall  be  exalted,  and  I  fear  not  to  take 
him  who  is  now  cleared  from  the  stain  of  murder,  to  receive  a 
farewell  from  the  holy  and  forgiving  countenance  of  Verena." 

The  pilgrim  stretched  both  his  hands  up  towards  Heaven,  and 
an  unspoken  thanksgiving  seemed  to  pour  from  his  beaming 
eyes,  and  to  brighten  the  smile  that  played  on  his  lips. 

Sintram  looked  sorrowfully  on  the  ground,  and  sighed  gently 
to  himself :  "  Alas  !  happy  he  who  dared  go  also !" 

"  My  poor,  good  Sintram,"  said  the  chaplain  in  a  tone  of  the 
softest  kindness,  "  I  understand  you  well,  but  the  time  is  not  yet 
come.  The  powers  of  Evil  will  again  raise  up  their  wrathful 
heads  within  you,  and  Verena  must  check  both  her  own  and 
your  longing  desires,  until  all  is  pure  in  your  spirit  as  in  her's. 
Comfort  yourself  with  the  thought  that  God  looks  mercifully 
upon  you,  and  that  the  joy  so  earnestly  sought  for,  will  not  fail 
to  come — if  not  here,  most  assuredly  beyond  the  grave." 

But  the  pilgrim,  as  though  awaking  out  of  a  trance,  rose  with 
energy  from  his  seat,  and  said :  "  Do  you  please  to  come  forth 
with  me,  reverend  chaplain  ?  Before  the  sun  appears  in  the 
heavens,  we  could  reach  the  c-onvent-gates,  and  I  should  not  be 
far  from  Heaven." 

In  vain  did  the  chaplain  and  Rolf  remind  him  of  his  w^eak- 
iiess :  he  smiled,  and  said  that  there  could  be  no  question  about 
it,  and  he  girded  himself,  and  tuned  the  lute  which  he  had 
asked  leave  to  take  with  him.  His  decided  manner  overcame 
all  opposition,  almost  without  words:  and  the  chaplain  had 
already  prepared  himself  for  the  journey,  when  the  pilgrim 
looked  with  much  emotion  at  Sintram,  who,  oppressed  with  a 


CUaP.  XXI.J 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


203 


strange  weariness,  had  sunk  half  asleep  on  a  couch,  and  he 
said  :  "  Wait  a  moment.  I  know  that  he  wants  mc  to  give  him 
a  soft  lullaby."  The  pleased  smile  of  the  youth  seemed  to  say 
yes,  and  the  pilgrim,  touching  the  strings  with  a  light  hand, 
sang  these  words : — 

"  Sleep  peacefully,  dear  boy, 
Thy  mother  sends  the  song 
That  whispers  round  thy  couch, 

To  lull  thee  all  night  long. 
In  silence  and  afar, 

For  thee  she  ever  prays, 
And  longs  once  more  in  fondness 
Upon  thy  face  to  gaze. 

And  when  thy  waking  cometh, 

Then  in  thy  every  deed. 
In  all  that  may  betide  thee, 

Unto  her  words  give  heed. 
O  listen  for  her  voice. 

If  it  be  yea  or  nay, 
And  though  temptation  meet  thee, 

Thou  shalt  not  miss  the  way. 

If  thou  canst  listen  rightly, 

And  nobly  onward  go. 
Then  pure  and  gentle  breezes 

Around  thy  cheeks  shall  bbw. 
Then  on  thy  peaceful  journey 

Her  blessing  thou  shalt  feel, 
And  though  from  thee  divided, 

Her  presence  o'er  thee  steal 

O  safest,  sweetest,  comfort ! 

O  blest  and  living  light ! 
That  strong  in  Heaven's  power 

All  terrors  put  to  flight  I 
Rest  quietly,  sweet  child. 

And  may  the  gentle  numbers 
Thy  mother  sends  to  thee, 

Waft  peace  unto  thy  slumbers." 

Smtram  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  smiling  and  breathing  softly. 
Rolf  and  the  castellan  remained  by  his  bed,  whilst  the  two 
travellers  pursued  their  way  in  the  quiet  starlight. 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  xxu. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  dawn  had  almost  appeared,  when  Rolf,  who  had  been 
asleep,  was  awoke  by  low  singing,  and  as  he  looked  round,  he 
perceived  with  surprise  that  the  sounds  came  from  the  lips  of 
the  castellan,  who  said,  as  if  in  explanation :  "  So  does  Sir 
Weigand  sing  at  the  convent-gates,  and  they  are  kindly  opened 
to  him."  Upon  which  old  Rolf  fell  asleep  again,  uncertain 
whether  what  had  passed  had  been  a  dream  or  a  reality.  Af- 
ter awhile  the  bright  sunshine  awoke  him  again,  and  when  he 
rose  up,  he  saw  the  countenance  of  the  castellan  wonderfully 
illuminated  by  the  red  light  of  the  morning  sun,  and  altogethei 
those  features,  once  so  fearful,  were  shining  with  a  soft,  nay, 
almost  child-like  mildness  of  expression.  The  mysterious  man 
seemed  to  be  the  while  listening  to  the  motionless  air,  as  if  he 
were  hearing  a  most  pleasant  discourse,  and  as  Rolf  was  about 
to  speak,  he  made  him  a  sign  of  entreaty  to  remain  quiet,  and 
he  continued  in  his  eager,  listening  attitude. 

At  length  he  sank  slowly  and  contentedly  back  in  his  seat, 
whispering :  "  God  be  praised  !  She  has  granted  his  last  pray- 
er ;  he  will  be  laid  in  the  burial-ground  of  the  convent,  and  now 
he  has  forgiven  me  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  I  can  assure 
you,  that  he  is  having  a  peaceful  end." 

Rolf  did  not  dare  ask  a  question,  or  awake  his  lord ;  he  felt 

s  if  one  already  departed  had  spoken  to  him. 
■^he  castellan  remained  still  for  a  long  space  of  time,  always 
J.  a  bright  smile  on  his  face.    At  last  he  raised  himself  up  a 

.ale,  again  listened,  and  said :  "  It  is  over.  The  sound  of  the 
bells  is  very  sweet.  We  have  overcome.  Oh!  how  soft  and 
easy  does  the  good  God  make  it  to  us !"  And  so  it  came  to 
pass.  He  stretched  himself  back  as  if  weary,  and  his  soul  was 
freed  from  his  care-worn  body. 


CHAP.  XXII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


205 


Rolf  now  gently  awoke  his  young  knight,  and  pointed  to  the 
smiling  face  of  the  dead.  And  Sintram  smiled  too  ;  he  and  his 
good  esquire  fell  on  their  knees  and  prayed  to  God  for  the  de- 
parted spirit.  Then  they  rose  up,  and  bore  the  cold  body  to 
the  vaulted  hall,  and  watched  by  it  with  holy  candles  until  the 
return  of  the  chaplain.  That  the  pilgrim  would  not  come  back 
again,  they  very  well  knew. 

Towards  mid-day,  accordingly,  the  chaplain  returned  alone. 
He  could  scarcely  do  more  than  confirm  what  was  already 
known  to  them.  He  only  added  a  comforting  and  hopeful 
greeting  from  Sintram's  mother  to  her  son,  and  told  that  the 
blissful  Weigand  had  fallen  asleep  like  a  tired  child,  whilst 
Verena  with  calm  tenderness  held  a  crucifix  before  him. 

"  And  in  eternal  peace  our  penance  end  !" 

sang  Sintram  gently  to  himself,  and  they  prepared  a  last  rest- 
mg-place  for  the  now  so  peaceful  castellan,  and  laid  him  there- 
in with  all  the  due  solemn  rites. 

The  chaplain  was  obliged  soon  afterwards  to  depart,  but 
when  bidding  Sintram  farewell,  he  again  said  kindly  to  him: 
"  Your  dear  mother  knows  assuredly,  how  gentle,  and  calm, 
and  good,  you  are  now  become !" 


S06 


SINTRAM, 


fcHAP.  XXIU 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

In  the  castle  of  Sir  Biorn  of  the  Fieiy  Eyes,  Christmas  eve  had 
not  passed  so  brightly  and  happily,  but  yet  there  too  all  had 
gone  visibly  according  to  God's  will 

Folko,  at  the  entreaty  of  the  lord  of  the  castle,  had  allowed 
Gabrielle  to  support  him  into  the  hall,  and  the  three  now  sat  at 
the  round  stone-table  whereon  a  sumptuous  meal  was  laid.  On 
either  side,  there  were  long  tables,  at  which  sat  the  retainers  of 
both  knights,  in  full  armour,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
north.  Torches  and  lamps  lighted  the  lofty  hall  with  an  almost 
dazzling  brightness. 

The  deepest  shades  of  night  had  now  gathered  around,  and 
Gabrielle  softly  reminded  her  wounded  knight  to  withdraw. 
Bi^n  heard  her  and  said  :  "  You  are  right,  fair  lady,  our  knight 
needs  rest.  Only  let  us  first  keep  up  one  more  old  honourable 
custom." 

And  at  his  sign  four  attendants  brought  in  with  pomp  a  great 
boar's  head,  which  looked  as  if  cut  out  of  solid  gold,  and  placed 
it  in  the  middle  of  the  stone-table.  Biorn's  retainers  rose  with 
reverence,  and  took  off  their  helmets ;  Biorn  himself  did  the 
same. 

"  What  means  this  ?"  asked  Folko  very  gravely. 

"  What  your  forefathers  and  mine  have  done  on  e'^ery  Yule 
Feast,"  answered  Biorn.  "  We  are  going,  to  make  vows  on 
the  boar's  head,  and  then  pass  the  goblet  round  to  their  fulfil- 
ment." 

"  We  no  longer  keep  what  our  ancestors  called  the  Yule 
Feast,"  said  Folko  ;  "  we  are  good  Christians,  and  we  keep  holy 
Christmas-tide." 

"  We  may  observe  the  one  without  leaving  ofT  the  other," 
answered  Biorn.    "  I  hold  my  ancestors  too  dear  to  forget  their 


CHAP.  XXIII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


207 


knightly  customs.  Those  who  think  otherwise  may  act  ac- 
cording to  their  wisdom,  but  that  shall  not  hinder  me.    I  swear 

by  the  golden  boards-head"  And  he  stretched  out  his  hand 

towards  it. 

But  Folko  called  out,  "  In  the  Name  jf  our  Holy  Saviour, 
forbear.  Where  I  am,  and  still  have  breath  and  will,  none  ce- 
h-brate  the  rites  of  the  wild  heathens." 

Biorn  of  the  Fiery  Eyes  glared  angrily  at  him.  The  men 
of  the  two  barons  separated  from  each  other,  with  a  hollow 
sound  of  rattling  armour,  and  ranged  themselves  in  two  bodies 
on  either  side  of  the  hall,  each  behind  its  leader.  Already  here 
and  there  helmets  were  fastened  and  visors  closed. 

"  Bethink  thee  yet  what  hou  art  doing,"  said  Biorn.  "  I  was 
about  to  vow  an  eternal  union  with  the  house  of  Montfaufon, 
nay,  even  to  bind  myself  to  do  it  grateful  homage,  but  if  thou 
disturbest  me  in  the  customs  which  have  come  to  me  from  my 
forefathers,  look  to  thy  safety,  and  the  safety  of  all  that  is  dear 
to  thee.    My  wrath  no  longer  knows  any  bounds." 

Folko  made  a  sign  to  the  pale  Gabrielle  to  retire  behind  his 
followers,  saying  to  her :  "  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  noble  wife, 
weaker  Christians  have  borne,  for  the  sake  of  God  and  of  His 
holy  Church,  greater  dangers  than  now  seem  to  threaten  us* 
Believe  me,  the  lord  of  Montfau^on  is  not  so  easily  overcome." 

Gabrielle  obeyed,  something  comforted  by  Folko's  fearless 
smile,  but  this  smile  inflamed  yet  more  the  fury  of  Biorn.  He 
again  stretched  out  his  hand  towards  the  boar's  head,  as  if 
about  to  make  some  dreadful  vow,  when  Folko  snatched  a 
gauntlet  of  Biorn's  off  the  table,  with  which  he,  with  his  un- 
wound ed  left  arm,  struck  such  a  powerful  blow  on  the  gilt  idol 
that  it  fell  crashing  to  the  ground,  shivered  to  pieces.  Biorn 
and  his  followers  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone.  But  soon  swords 
were  grasped  by  armed  hands,  shields  were  taken  down  from 
the  walls,  and  an  angry  threatening  murmur  sounded  through 
the  haL. 

At  a  sign  from  Folko,  one  of  his  faithful  retainers  brought 
him  a  battle-axe ;  he  swung  it  high  in  the  aii  with  his  power- 


208 


SINTRAM, 


[chap,  xxiu 


ful  left  hand,  and  he  stood  looking-  like  an  avenging  angel  aa 
he  spoke  these  words  through  the  tumult  with  awful  calmness: 
"  What  seek  ye.  O  ye  deluded  Northmen  ?  What  would st 
thou,  sinful  lord?  You  are  indeed  become  heathens,  and  [ 
hope  to  show  you  that  it  is  not  in  my  right  arm  alone  that 
God  has  put  strength  for  victory.  But  if  you  can  yet  hear, 
listen  to  my  words.  Biorn,  on  this  same  accursed,  and  now, 
hy  God's  help,  shivered  boar's  head,  thou  didst  lay  th}  hand 
when  thou  didst  swear  to  sacrifice  any  mhabitants  c!  the 
German  towns  that  should  fall  into  thy  power.  .  And  Gotthard 
Lenz  came,  and  Rudlieb  came,  driven  on  these  shores  by 
the  storm.  What  didst  thou  then  do,  savage  Biorn  ?  What 
did  you  do  at  his  bidding,  you  who  were  keeping  the  Yule- 
feast  with  him  ?  Try  your  fortune  on  me.  The  Lord  will  be 
with  me  as  he  was  with  those  holy  men.  To  arms !  and — " 
(he  turned  to  his  w^arriors,) — "  let  our  battle-cry  be  Gotthard 
and  Rudlieb !" 

Then  Biorn  let  drop  his  drawn  sword;  then  his  followers 
paused,  and  none  among  the  Norwegians  dared  lift  his  eyes 
from  the  ground.  By  degrees  they  one  by  one  began  to  disap- 
pear from  the  hall  ;  and  at  last  Biorn  stood  quite  alone  opposite 
to  the  baron  and  his  followers.  He  seemed  hardly  aware  that 
he  had  been  deserted,  but  he  fell  on  his  knees,  stretched  out 
his  shining  sword,  pointed  to  the  broken  boar's  head,  and  said . 
"  Do  with  me  as  you  have  done  w^ith  that ;  I  deserve  no  better. 
I  ask  but  one  favour,  only  one  ;  do  not  disgrace  me,  noble 
baron,  by  seeking  shelter  in  another  castle  while  you  remain  in 
Norway." 

"  I  do  not  fear  you,"  answered  Folko,  after  some  thought^ 
"  and  as  far  as  may  be,  I  freely  forgive  you."  Then  he  drew 
the  sign  of  the  Cross  over  the  wild  form  of  Biorn,  and  left  the 
hall  with  Gabrielle.  The  retainers  of  the  house  of  Montfaufon 
followed  him  proudly  and  silently. 

The  high  spirit  of  the  fierce  lord  of  the  castle  was  now 
quite  broken,  and  he  watched  with  increased  humility  every 
look  of  Folko  and  Gabrielle.    But  they  withdrew  more  and 


OUAP.  XXIII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


209 


more  into  the  happy  solitude  of  their  own  apartments,  where 
they  enjoyed  in  the  midst  of  the  sharp  winter  a  bright  spring- 
tide of  love  and  happiness.  The  wounded  condition  of  Folko 
did  not  hinder  the  evening  delights  of  songs  and  music  and 
poetry — but  rather  a  new  charm  was  added  to  them  when  the 
tall,  handsome  knight  leant  on  the  arm  of  his  delicate  lady, 
and  they  thus,  changing  as  it  were  their  deportment  and  du- 
ties, walked  slowly  through  the  torch-lit  halls,  scattering  their 
kindly  greetings  like  flowers  among  the  crowds  of  men  and 
women. 

All  this  time  little  or  nothing  was  heard  of  poor  Sintram. 
The  last  wild  outbreak  of  his  father  had  increased  the  terror 
with  which  Gabrielle  remembered  the  self-accusations  of  the 
youth  ;  and  the  more  resolutely  Folko  kept  silence,  the  more 
did  she  fear  that  some  dreadful  mystery  lay  beneath.  Indeed 
a  secret  shudder  came  over  the  knight  when  he  thought  on 
the  pale,  dark-haired  youth.  Sintram's  repentance  had  bor- 
dered on  settled  despair ;  no  one  knew  even  what  he  was 
doing  in  the  fortress  of  Evil-Report  on  the  Rocks  of  the  Moon. 
Strange  rumours  were  brought  by  the  retainers  who  had  fled 
from  it,  that  the  Evil  Spirit  had  obtained  complete  power 
over  Sintram,  that  no  man  could  stay  with  him,  and  that  the 
fidelity  of  the  dark  and  mysterious  castellan  had  cost  him 
his  life. 

Folko  could  hardly  drive  away  the  fearful  imagination  that 
the  lonely  young  knight  was  become  a  wicked  magician. 

And  perhaps  indeed  evil  spirits  did  flit  about  the  banished  Sin- 
tram, but  it  was  without  his  calling  them  up.  In  his  dreams  he 
often  saw  the  wicked  enchantress  Venus,  in  her  golden  chariot 
drawn  by  winged  cats,  pass  over  the  battlements  of  the  stone 
fortress,  and  heard  her  say,  mocking  him  :  "  Foolish  Sintram, 
foolish  Sintram,  hadst  thou  but  listened  to  the  Little  Master's 
words  !  Thou  wouldst  now  be  in  Helen's  arms,  and  the  Rocks 
of  the  Moon  would  be  called  the  Rocks  of  Love,  and  the  stone 
fortress  would  be  the  garden  of  roses.  Thou  wouldst  have 
15 


210 


SINTRAM, 


[chap,  xxiri. 


lost  thy  pale  face  and  black  tangled  hair, — for  thou  art  only 
enchanted,  dear  youth, — and  thine  eyes  would  have  beamed 
more  softly,  and  thy  cheeks  bloomed  more  freshly,  and  thy  hair 
would  have  been  more  golden  than  was  that  of  prince  Paris, 
when  men  wondered  at  his  beauty.  Oh !  how  Helen  would 
have  loved  thee !"  Then  she  showed  him,  in  a  mirror,  his  own 
figure  kneeling  before  Gabrielle,  who  sank  into  his  arm^s  blush- 
ing as  the  morning.  When  he  awoke  from  such  dreams,  he 
would  seize  in  eager  haste  the  sword  and  scarf  which  his  lady 
had  given  him,  as  a  shipwrecked  man  seizes  the  plank  which  is 
to  save  him,  and  while  the  hot  tears  fell  upon  it,  he  would  mur- 
jrnuT  to  himself:  "There  was  indeed  one  hour  in. my  sad  life 
when  I  was  happy,  and  deserved  it." 

Once  he  sprang  up  at  midnight  after  one  of  these  dreams, 
only  this  time  with  a  more  thrilling  horror  than  usual ;  for  it 
had  seemed  to  him  that  the  features  of  the  enchantress  Venus 
had  changed  towards  the  end  of  her  speech,  as  she  looked 
down  upon  him  with  marvellous  scorn,  and  she  appeared  to 
him  almost  to  assume  those  of  the  hideous  Little  Master.  The 
youth  had  no  better  means  of  calming  his  distracted  mind  than 
to  throw  the  sword  and  scarf  of  Gabrielle  over  his  shoulders, 
and  to  hasten  forth  under  the  solemn  starry  canopy  of  the  win- 
try sky.  He  walked  in  deep  thought  backwards  and  forwards 
under  the  leafless  oaks,  and  the  snow-laden  firs,  which  grew  on 
the  high  ramparts. 

Then  he  heard  a  sorrowful  cry  of  distress  sound  from  the 
moat ;  it  was  as  if  some  one  were  attempting  to  sing,  but  was 
stopped  by  excess  of  grief  Sintram  exclaimed,  "  Who's 
there  ?"  and  all  was  still.  When  he  was  silent  and  again  be- 
gan his  walk,  the  frightful  groanings  and  moanings  were  heard 
afresh,  as  if  they  came  from  a  dying  person.  Sintram  over- 
came the  horror  which  seemed  to  hold  him  back,  and  began  in 
o'ilence  to  climb  down  into  the  deep  dry  moat,  which  was  cut 
in  the  rock  He  was  soon  so  low  down  that  he  could  no  longer 
see  the  stars  shining ;  he  saw  a  shrouded  form  move  beneath 
him, — and  sliding  rapidly  down  the  remainder  of  the  steep  de* 


CHAP.  XXIII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANTONS. 


211 


scent,  he  stood  near  the  groaning  figure  ;  it  ceased  its  lamenta- 
tions, and  began  to  laugh  like  a  maniac  from  beneath  its  long 
folded  female  garments. 

"  Oh,  ho,  my  comrade  !  Oh,  ho,  my  comrade!  You  are  now 
going  a  little  too  fast :  well,  well,  it  is  all  right :  and  see  now, 
you  stand  no  higher  than  I,  my  pious  valiant  youth  !  Take  it 
patiently, — take  it  patiently !" 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  Why  do  you  laugh  ?  why 
do  you  weep  ?"  asked  Sintram  impatiently. 

"I  might  ask  you  the  same  question,"  answered  the  dark 
figure,  "  and  you  would  be  less  able  to  answer  me,  than  I  to 
answer  you.  Why  do  you  laugh  ?  why  do  you  weep  ? — Poor 
creature  !  But  I  will  show  you  a  remarkable  thing  in  your 
fortress,  of  which  you  know  nothing.    Give  heed  !" 

And  the  shrouded  figure  began  to  scratch  and  scrape  at  the 
stones  till  a  little  iron  door  opened,  and  showed  a  long  passage 
which  led  into  the  deep  darkness. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  ?"  whispered  the  strange  being : 
•'it  is  the  shortest  way  to  your  father's  castle.  Iq  half  an  hour 
we  shall  come  out  of  this  passage,  and  we  shall  be  in  your 
beauteous  lady's  apartme^it.  King  Menelaus  shall  lie  in  a  ma- 
gic sleep, — leave  that  to  me, — and  then  you  will  take  the  slight 
delicate  form  in  your  arms,  and  you  will  bring'  her  to  the  Rocks 
of  the  Moon  ;  so  you  will  recover  all  that  seemed  lost  by  your 
former  wavering." 

Then  Sintram  might  have  been  seen  to  stagger.  He  was 
shaken  to  and  fro  by  the  fever  of  passion  and  the  stings  of  con- 
science ;  but  at  last,  pressing  the  sword  and  scarf  to  his  heart, 
he  cried  out :  "Oh!  that  fairest,  most  glorious  hour  of  my  life  ! 
[f  I  lose  all  other  joys,  I  will  hold  fast  that  brightest  hour !" 

"  A  bright,  glorious  hour  !"  said  the  figure  from  under  its  veil, 
lilve  an  evil  echo.  "Do  you  know  whom  you  then  conquered  ? 
A  good  old  friend,  who  only  showed  himself  so  sturdy  in  order 
to  give  you  the  glory  of  overcoming  him.  Will  you  convince 
yourself  ?    Will  you  look  ?" 

The  dark  garments  of  the  little  figure  flew  open,  and  Sin* 


212  SINTRAM,  [chap,  xxui 

tram  saw  the  dwarf  warrior  in  strange  armour  with  the  gold 
horn  on  his  helmet,  and  the  curved  spear  in  his  hand  ;  the  very- 
same  whom  Sin  tram  thought  he  had  slain  on  Niflung's  Heath, 
now  stood  before  him,  and  grinned  as  he  said :  "  You  see,  my 
friend,  every  thing  in  the  wide  world  is  made  up  of  dreams  and 
froth  ;  wherefore  hold  fast  the  dream  which  delights  you,  and 
sip  up  the  froth  which  refreshes  you  !  Hasten  to  that  under- 
ground passage,  it  leads  up  to  your  angel  Helen.  Or  would 
you  first  know  your  friend  yet  better  ?" 

His  visor  opened,  and  the  hateful  face  of  the  Little  Master 
glared  upon  the  knight.  Sintram  asked,  as  if  in  a  dream :  "Art 
th  ou  also  that  wicked  enchantress  Venus  ?" 

"  Something  like  her,"  answered  the  Little  Master,  laughing, 
"  or  rather  she  is  something  like  me.  And  if  you  will  only  get 
disenchanted,  and  recover  the  beauty  of  prince  Paris, — then,  O 
prince  Paris,"  and  his  voice  changed  to  an  alluring  song,  "  then, 

0  prince  Paris,  I  shall  be  fair  like  you !" 

At  this  moment  the  good  Rolf  appeared  above  on  the  ram- 
part ;  a  consecrated  taper  in  his  lantern  shone  down  into  the 
moat,  as  he  sought  for  the  young  knight.  "  In  God's  name.  Sir 
Sintram,"  he  called  out,  "  what  have  you  to  do  there  with  the 
spectre  of  him  whom  you  slew  on  Niflung's  Heath,  and  whom 

1  never  could  bury  ?" 

"  Do  you  see  ?  do  you  hear  ?"  whispered  the  Little  Master, 
and  drew  back  into  the  darkness  of  the  underground  passage. 
"  The  wise  man  up  there  knows  me  well.  You  see  your  heroic 
feat  came  to  nothing.  Come,  take  the  joys  of  life  while  you 
may!" 

But  Sintram  sprang  back  with  a  strong  effort  into  the  circle 
of  light  made  by  the  shining  of  the  taper  from  above,  and  cried 
out :  "  Depart  from  me,  unquiet  spirit !  I  know  well  that  I 
bear  a  name  on  me,  in  which  thou  canst  have  no  part." 

Little  Master  rushed,  in  fear  and  rage,  into  the  passage,  and, 
yelling,  shut  the  iron  door  behind  him.  It  seemed  as  if  ho 
could  be  still  heard  groaning  and  roaring. 

Sintram  climbed  up  the  wall  of  the  moat,  and  made  a  sign  to 


CHAP.  XXIII.J 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


213 


his  foster-father  not  to  speak  to  him — he  only  said  .  One  of 
my  best  joys,  yes,  the  very  best,  has  been  taken  from  me — but 
by  God's  help,  I  am  not  yet  wholly  lost." 

In  the  earliest  light  of  the  following  morning,  he  and  Rolf 
stopped  up  the  entrance  to  the  perilous  passage  with  huge 
blocks  of  stone. 


814  SINTRAM,  [chap.  xxiv. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  long  northern  winter  was  at  last  ended ;  the  fresh,  green 
leaves  rustled  merrily  in  the  woods,  patches  of  soft  moss  ap 
peared  amongst  the  rocks,  the  valleys  were  clothed  with  grass, 
the  brooks  sparkled,  the  snow  melted  from  all  but  the  highest 
mountain-tops,  and  the  bark  which  was  ready  to  carry  away 
Folko  and  Gabriclle  danced  on  the  sunny  waves.  The  baron, 
who  was  now  quite  recovered,  and  strong  and  fresh  as  though 
his  health  had  sustained  no  injury,  stood  one  morning  on  the 
shore  with  his  fair  lady,  and,  full  of  glee  at  the  prospect  of  re 
turning  to  their  home,  the  noble  pair  looked  on  with  satisfaction 
at  their  attendants,  who  were  busied  in  the  ship  with  prepara- 
tions for  the  voyage. 

Then  said  one  of  them,  in  the  midst  of  a  confused  sound  of 
talking  :  "  But  what  has  appeared  to  me  the  most  fearful  and 
the  most  strange  thing  in  this  northern  land,  is  the  stone  fortress 
on  the  Rocks  of  the  Moon  :  I  have  never  indeed  been  inside  it, 
but  when  I  used  to  see  it  in  our  huntings,  towering  above  the 
tall  fir-trees,  there  came  a  tightness  over  my  breast,  as  if  some 
unearthly  beings  were  dwelling  in  it.  And  a  few  weeks  ago, 
when  the  snow  was  yet  lying  hard  in  the  valleys,  I  came  una- 
wares quite  close  upon  the  strange  building.  The  young  knight 
Sintram  was  walking  alone  on  the  ramparts  as  the  shades  of 
twilight  stole  on,  like  the  spirit  of  a  d-eparted  knight,  and  he 
drew  from  the  lute  which  he  carried  such  soft  melancholy  tones, 
and  he  sighed  so  deeply  and  sorrowfully  .  .  ." 

The  voice  of  the  speaker  was  drowned  in  the  noise  of  the 
crowd,  and  as  he  also  just  then  reached  the  ship  with  his  pack- 
age, which  had  been  hastily  fastened  up,  Folko  and  Gabrielle 
could  not  hear  the  rest  of  his  speech.  But  the  fair  lady  looked 
on  her  knight  with  eyes  dim  with  tears,  and  sighed :  "  Is  i  not 


CHAP.  XXIV.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


215 


behind  those  mountains  that  the  Rocks  of  the  Moon  lie  ?  The 
unhappy  Sintram  makes  me  sad  at  heart." 

"  I  understand  you,  sweet  gracious  lady,  and  the  pure  com- 
passion which  fills  your  heart,"  replied  Folko,  and  instantly 
ordered  his  swift-footed  steed  to  be  brought.  He  placed  his 
noble  lady  under  the  charge  of  his  retainers,  and  leaping  into 
the  saddle,  he  pursued  his  way,  followed  by  the  grateful  smiles 
of  Gabrielle,  along  the  valley  which  led  towards  the  stontj  fortress. 

Sintram  was  seated  near  the  drawbridge,  touching  the  strings 
of  the  lute,  and  shedding  some  tears  on  the  golden  chords, 
almost  exactly  as  Montfau^on's  esquires  had  described  him. 
Suddenly  a  cloudy  shadow  passed  over  him,  and  he  looked  up, 
expecting  to  see  a  flight  of  cranes  in  the  air ;  but  the  sky  was 
clear  and  blue.  While  the  young  knight  was  still  wondering, 
a  long  bright  spear  fell  at  his  feet  from  a  battlement  of  the 
armoury  turret.  "  Take  it  up, — make  good  use  of  it !  your 
foe  is  near  at  hand !  Near  also  is  the  downfal  of  your  cherish- 
ed hopes  of  happiness !"  Thus  he  heard  it  distinctly  whis- 
pered in  his  ear  ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  the  shadow 
of  the  Little  Master  glide  close  by  him  to  a  neighbouring  cleft  in 
the  rock.  But  at  the  same  time,  also,  a  tall,  gigantic,  haggard 
figure  passed  along  the  valley,  in  some  measure  like  the  departed 
pilgrim,  only  much,  very  much  larger,  and  he  raised  his  long 
bony  arm  with  an  awfully  threatening  air,  then  disappeared  in 
an  ancient  tomb. 

At  the  very  same  instant  Sir  Folko  of  Montfauton  came  swift- 
ly as  the  wind  up  the  Rocks  of  the  Moon,  and  he  must  have  seen 
something  of  those  strange  apparitions,  for,  as  he  stopped  close 
behind  Sintram,  he  looked  rather  pale,  and  he  asked  low  and 
earnestly :  "  Sir  knight,  who  are  those  two  with  whom  you  were 
just  now  holding  converse  here  ?" 

"  The  good  God  knows,"  answered  Sintram.  "  I  know  them 
not." 

"  If  the  good  God  does  but  know !"  cried  Montfau9on.  "  But 
I  fear  me  that  he  knows  you  not,  nor  your  deeds." 

"  You  speak  strangely  harsh  words,"  said  Sintram.  "  Yet 
ever  since  that  evening  of  misery, — alas  !  and  even  long  before 


S16 


SINTRAM, 


[chap  XXIV 


— I  have  no  right  to  complain  of  anything  you  may  say  or  do. 
Dear  sir,  you  may  believe  me,  I  know  not  those  fearful  com- 
panions ;  I  call  them  not ;  and  I  know  not  what  terrible  curse  it  is 
which  binds  them  to  my  footsteps.  The  merciful  God,  as  I  would 
hope,  is  mindful  of  me  the  while,  as  a  faithful  shepherd  does  not 
forget  even  the  worst  and  most  widely-strayed  of  his  flock,  but 
calls  after  it  with  an  anxious  voice  in  the  gloomy  wilderness." 

Then  the  anger  of  the  baron  was  quite  melted.  Two  tears 
stood  in  his  eyes,  and  he  said  :  "  No,  assuredly,  God  has  not  for- 
gotten you  ;  only  do  you  not  forget  your  gracious  God.  I  did  not 
come  to  rebuke  you — I  came  to  bless  you  in  Gabrielle's  name 
and  in  my  own.  The  Lord  preserve  you,  the  Lord  guide  you, 
the  Lord  lift  you  up.  And  Sintrarn,  on  the  far-ofT  shores  of 
Normandy  I  shall  bear  you  in  mind,  and  I  shall  hear  how  you 
struggle  against  the  curse  which  darkens  your  unhappy  life, 
and  if  you  ever  obtain  the  victory  over  it,  and  overcome  in  the 
evil  day,  then  you  shall  receive  from  me  a  token  of  love  ard 
reward,  more  precious  than  either  you  or  I  can  understand  at 
this  moment." 

The  words  flowed  prophetically  from  the  baron's  lips ;  he 
himself  was  only  half-conscious  of  what  he  said.  With  a  kind 
salutation  he  turned  his  noble  steed,  and  again  flew  down  the 
valley  towards  the  sea-shore. 

"  Fool,  fool,  thrice  a  fool !"  whispered  the  angry  voice  of 
the  Little  Master  in  Sintram's  ear,  but  old  Rolf  was  singing  his 
morning  hymn  in  clear  tones  within  the  castle,  and  the  last  lines 
were  these 

*'  Whom  worldlings  scorn, 
Who  lives  forlorn, 

On  God's  own  word  doth  rest ; 
With  heavenly  light, 
His  path  is  bright. 

His  lot  among  the  blest." 

Then  a  holy  joy  took  possession  of  Sintram's  heart ;  and  he 
looked  around  him  yet  more  gladly  than  in  the  hour  when  Oa- 
brielle  gave  him  the  scarf  and  sword,  and  Folko  dubbed  hi:A: 
knight. 


CHAP  XXV.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


217 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  baron  and  his  lovely  lady  were  sailing  across  the  broad  sea 
with  favouring  gales  of  spring,  nay  the  coast  of  Normandy  had 
already  appeared  above  the  waves,  but  still  was  Biorn  of  the 
Fiery  Eyes  sitting  gloomy  and  speechless  in  his  castle.  He 
had  taken  no  leave  of  his  guests.  There  was  more  of  proud 
fear  of  Montfau9on,  than  of  reverential  love  for  him  in  his  soul, 
especially  since  the  adventure  with  the  boar's  head,  and  the 
thought  was  bitter  to  his  haughty  spirit,  that  the  great  baron, 
the  flower  and  glory  of  their  whole  race,  should  have  come  in 
peace  to  visit  him,  and  should  now  be  departing  in  disj^leasure, 
in  stern  reproachful  displeasure.  He  had  constantly  before  his 
mind,  and  it  never  failed  to  bring  fresh  pangs,  the  remembrance 
of  how  all  had  come  to  pass,  and  how  all  might  have  gone 
otherwise  ;  and  he  was  always  fancying  he  could  hear  the  songs 
in  which  after-generations  would  recount  this  voyage  of  the 
great  Folko,  and  the  worthlessness  of  the  savage  Biorn.  At 
length,  full  of  fierce  anger,  he  cast  away  the  fetters  of  his 
troubled  spirit,  he  burst  out  of  the  castle  with  all  his  horsemen, 
and  began  to  carry  on  a  warfare  more  fearful  and  more  lawless 
than  any  in  which  he  had  yet  been  engaged. 

Sintram  heard  the  sound  of  his  father's  war-horn,  and  com- 
mitting the  stone  fortress  to  old  Rolf,  he  sprang  forth  ready 
armed  for  the  combat.  But  the  flames  of  the  cottages  and 
farms  on  the  mountains  rose  up  before  him,  and  showed  him, 
written  as  if  in  t.naracters  of  fire,  what  kind  of  war  his  father 
was  waging.  Yet  he  went  on  towards  the  f?pot  where  the  army 
was  mustered,  but  only  to  ofler  his  mediation,  affirming  that  he 
would  not  lay  his  hand  on  his  good  sword  in  so  abhorred  a 
service,  even  though  the  stone  fortress,  and  his  father's  castle 
besides,  should  fall  be%e  the  vengeance  of  their  enemies. 


218 


SINTRAM,  [chap.  xxv. 


Biorn  hurled  the  spear  which  he  held  in  his  hand  against  his 
son  with  mad  fury.  The  deadly  weapon  whizzed  past  him. 
Sintram  remained  standing  with  his  visor  raised,  he  did  not 
move  one  limb  in  his  defence,  when  be  said  :  "  Father!  do  what 
you  will ;  but  I  join  not  in  your  godless  warfare." 

Biorn  of  the  Fiery  Eyes  laughed  scornfully :  "  It  seems  that 
[  am  always  to  have  a  spy  over  me  here  ;  my  son  succeeds  tr 
the  dainty  French  knight  1"  But  nevertheless  he  came  to  him- 
self, he  accepted  Sintian/s  mediation,  made  amends  for  the  in- 
juries he  had  done,  ard  returned  gloomily  to  his  castle.  Sintram 
went  back  to  the  Rocks  of  the  Moon. 

Such  occurrences  were  frequent  after  that  time.  It  went  so 
far  that  Sintram  came  to  be  looked  upon  as  the  protector  of  all 
those  whom  his  father  pursued  with  relentless  fury ;  but  never- 
theless, sometimes  his  own  wildness  would  carry  the  young 
knight  away  to  accompany  his  fierce  father  in  his  fearful  deeds. 
Then  Biorn  used  to  laugh  with  horrible  pleasure,  and  to  say : 
"  See  there,  my  son,  how  the  flames  we  have  lighted  blaze  up 
from  the  villages,  as  the  blood  spouts  up  from  the  wounds  our 
swords  have  made  !  It  is  plain  to  me,  however  much  you  may 
pretend  to  the  contrary,  that  you  are,  and  that  you  will  ever  re- 
main, my  true  and  beloved  heir !" 

After  such  terrible  wanderings,  Sintram  could  find  no  comfort 
but  in  hastening  to  the  chaplain  of  Drontheim,  and  confessing 
to  him  his  misery  and  his  sins.  The  chaplain  would  freely 
absolve  him  after  due  penance  had  been  performed,  and  agaiG 
raise  up  the  broken-hearted  and  repenting  youth ;  but  he  would 
often  say :  "  Oh  !  how  nearly  had  you  reached  your  last  trial 
and  gained  the  victory,  and  looked  on  Verena's  countenance, 
and  atoned  for  all !  Now  you  have  thrown  yourself  back  for 
years.  Think,  my  son,  on  the  shortness  of  man's  life ;  if  you 
a:3  always  falling  back  anew,  how  will  you  ever  reach  the  sum- 
mit on  this  side  the  grave  ?" 

Years  came  and  went,  and  Biorn's  hair  was  white  as  snow, 
and  the  youth  Sintram  had  reached  the  middle  age  ;  old  Rolf 
was  now  scarcely  able  to  '  "^'^ve  the  stone  fortress ;  and  some- 


CHAP.  XXV  ]  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  219 


times  he  said  :  "  I  feel  it  a  burden  that  my  life  should  yet  be 
prolonged,  but  also  there  is  much  comfort  in  it,  for  I  shall  think 
that  the  good  God  has  in  store  for  me  here  below  some  great 
happiness ;  and  it  must  be  something  in  which  you  are  con* 
cerned,  my  beloved  Sir  Sintram,  for  what  else  in  the  whole 
world  could  rejoice  my  heart  ?" 

But,  nevertheless,  every  thing  remained  as  it  was,  only  Sin- 
tram's  fearful  dreams  at  Christmas-time  each  year  rather  in- 
creased than  diminished  in  horror.  Again,  the  holy  season 
was  drawing  near,  and  the  mind  of  the  sorely  afflicted  knight 
was  more  troubled  than  ever  before.  Sometimes,  if  he  had 
been  reckoning  up  the  nights  which  were  yet  to  elapse  before 
it,  a  cold  sweat  would  stand  on  his  forehead,  while  he  said : 
"  Mark  my  words,  dear  old  foster-father,  this  time  something 
most  awfully  decisive  lies  before  me." 

One  evening  he  felt  an  overwhelming  anxiety  about  his  fa- 
ther. It  seemed  to  him  that  the  Prince  of  Darkness  was  going 
up  to  Biorn's  castle  ;  and  in  vain  did  Rolf  remind  him  that  the 
snow  was  lying  deep  in  the  valleys,  in  vain  did  he  suggest  that 
the  knight  might  be  overtaken  by  his  frightful  dreams  in  the 
lonely  mountains  during  the  night-time.  "  Nothing  can  be 
worse  to  me  than  remaining  here  would  be,"  replied  Sin- 
tram. 

He  took  his  horse  from  the  stable  and  rode  forth  in  the  ga- 
thering darkness.  The  noble  steed  slipped  and  stumbled  and 
fell  in  the  trackless  ways,  but  his  rider  always  raised  him  up 
and  urged  him  only  more  sv/iftly  and  eagerly  towards  the  ob- 
ject which  he  longed  and  yet  dreaded  io  reach.  Nevertheless, 
he  might  never  have  arrived  at  it,  had  not  his  faithful  hound 
Skovmark  kept  with  him.  The  dog  sought  out  the  lost  track 
for  his  beloved  master,  and  invited  him  into  it  with  joyous 
barkings,  and  warned  him  by  his  howls  against  hidden  preci- 
pices and  treacherous  ice  under  the  snow.  Thus  they  arrived 
about  midnight  at  Biorn's  castle.  The  windows  of  the  hail 
shone  opposite  to  them  with  a  brilliant  light,  as  though  sor  le 
great  feast  were  being  kept  there, — and  confused  sounds,  »f 


220 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  XXV. 


singing,  met  their  ears,  Sintram  gave  his  horse  hastily  to  some 
retainers  in  the  court-yard,  and  ran  up  the  steps,  whilst  Skovmark 
staid  by  the  well-known  horse. 

A  good  esquire  came  towards  Smtram  within  the  castle,  and 
said  :  "  God  be  praised,  my  dear  master,  that  you  are  come, — 
for  surely  nothing  good  is  going  on  above.  But  take  heed  to 
yourself,  also,  and  be  not  deluded.  Your  father  has  a  guest 
with  him, — and,  as  I  think,  a  very  evil  one," 

Sintram  shuddered  as  he  threw  open  the  doors.  A  little  man 
in  the  dress  of  a  miner  was  sitting  with  his  back  towards  him  ; 
the  armour  had  been  for  some  time  past  again  ranged  round 
the  stone  table,  so  that  only  two  places  were  ever  left  empty. 
The  seat  opposite  the  door  had  been  taken  by  Biorn  of  the  Fiery 
Eyes ;  and  the  dazzling  light  of  the  torches  fell  upon  his  fea- 
tures with  such  a  red  glare,  that  he  most  fully  established  his 
right  to  that  fearful  surname. 

"  Father,  whom  have  you  here  with  you  ?"  cried  Sintram  ; 
and  his  suspicions  rose  to  certainty  as  the  miner  turned  round, 
and  the  detestable  face  of  the  Little  Master  grinned  from  under 
the  dark  hood  he  ^vore. 

"  Yes,  just  see,  my  fair  son,"  said  the  wild  Biorn  ;  "  you 
have  not  been  here  for  a  long  while, — and  so  to-night  this  joi'v 
cornrade  has  paid  me  a  visit,  and  your  place  has  been  taken. 
But  throw  one  of  the  suits  of  armour  out  of  the  way,  and  put 
a  seat  for  yourself  instead  of  it, — and  come  and  drink  with  us, 
and  be  merry." 

"  Yes,  do  so,  Sir  Sintram,"  said  the  Little  Master,  with  a 
laugh.  "  Nothing  worse  could  come  of  it  than  that  the  broken 
pieces  of  armour  might  clatter  somewhat  strangely  one  against 
the  other ;  or,  at  most,  that  the  disturbed  spirit  of  him  to  whom 
the  suit  belonged,  might  look  over  your  shoulder :  but  he  would 
not  drink  up  any  of  our  wine — ghosts  have  nothing  to  do  with 
that.    So  now  fall  to !" 

Biorn  joined  in  the  laughter  of  the  hideous  stranger  with 
wild  mirth ;  and  while  Sintram  was  mustering  up  his  whole 
strength  not  to  lose  his  senses  at  such  terrible  words,  and  was 


CHAP.  XXV.] 


AISD  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


221 


fixing  a  calm  steady  look  on  the  Little  Master's  face, — the  old 
man  cried  out : 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  him  so  ?  Is  it  that  you  fancy  there 
is  a  mirror  before  you  ?  Now  that  you  are  together,  I  do  not 
see  it  so  much ;  but  awhile  ago  I  thought  that  you  were  like 
enough  to  each  other  to  be  mistaken." 

"  God  forbid !"  said  Sintram :  and  he  walked  up  close  to 
the  fearful  apparition,  saying :  "  I  command  you,  detestable 
stranger,  to  depart  from  this  castle,  in  right  of  my  authority  as 
my  father's  heir, — as  a  consecrated  knight,  and  as  a  Christian 
man !" 

B]orn  seemed  as  if  he  wished  to  oppose  himself  to  this  com- 
mand with  all  his  savage  might.  The  Little  Master  mut- 
tered tc  nimself :  "  You  are  not  by  any  means  the  master  in 
this  house,  pious  knight ;  you  have  never  lighted  a  fire  on  this 
hearth." 

Then  Sintram  drew  the  sword  which  Gabrielle  had  given 
him, — held  the  cross  formed  by  the  hilt  before  the  eyes  of 
his  evil  guest, — and  said  calmly,  but  with  a  powerful  voice : 
"  Worship,  or  fly !" 

And  he  fled  !  the  frightful  stranger, — he  fled  with  such  light- 
ning speed,  that  it  could  scarcely  be  seen  whether  he  had 
sprung  through  the  window  or  the  door.  But  in  going  he  over- 
threw some  of  the  armour, — the  tapers  went  out, — and  it  seemed 
that  the  pale  blue  flame  which  lighted  up  the  hall  in  a  marvel- 
lous manner,  gave  a  fulfilment  to  the  Little  Master's  formter 
words ;  and  that  the  spirits  of  those  to  whom  the  armour  had 
belonged,  were  leaning  over  the  table  grinning  fearfully. 

Both  the  father  and  the  son  were  filled  with  horror, — but 
each  chose  an  opposite  way  to  save  themselves.  Biorn  wished 
to  have  his  hateful  guest  back  igain  ;  and  the  power  of  his 
will  was  seen  when  the  Little  Master's  step  resounded  anew 
on  the  stairs,  and  his  hard  brown  hand  shook  the  lock  of  the 
door.  On  the  other  hand,  Sintram  ceased  not  to  say  within 
himself :  "  We  are  lost,  if  he  comes  back  !  We  are  lost  to 
aU  eternity,  if  he  comes  back  !"    And  he  fell  on  his  knees. 


222 


SIN  TRAM, 


[chap.  XXT 


and  prayed  fervently  from  the  depth  of  his  troubled  heart  to 
Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit.  Then  the  Little  Master  left  the 
door  ;  and  again  Biorn  willed  him  to  return ;  and  again  Sin- 
tram's  prayers  drove  him  away.  So  went  on  this  strife  of  wills 
throughout  the  long  night;  and  fierce  whirlwinds  raged  the 
while  around  the  castle,  till  all  the  household  thought  the  end 
of  the  world  was  come.  At  length  the  dawn  of  morning  ap- 
peared through  the  windows  of  the  hall, — the  fury  of  the  storm 
was  lulled, — Biorn  sank  back  powerless  in  slumber  on  his  seat ; 
— peace  and  hope  were  restored  to  the  inmates  of  the  castle, — 
and  Sintram,  pale  and  exhausted,  went  out  to  breathe  the  dewy 
air  of  the  mild  winter's  morning  before  the  castle-gates. 


CHAP.  XXVI  ] 


AND  UrS  COMPANIONS. 


sens 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

The  faithful  Skovmark  followed  his  master,  caressing  him ;  and 
when  Sintram  fell  asleep  on  a  stone  seat  in  the  wall,  he  lay  at 
his  feet,  keeping  watchful  guard.  Suddenly  he  pricked  up  his 
ears,  looked  round  with  delight,  and  hounded  joyfully  down  the 
mountain.  Just  afterwards  the  chaplain  of  Drontheim  appeared 
amongst  the  rocks,  and  the  good  beast  went  up  to  him  as  if  to 
greet  him,  and  then  again  ran  back  to  the  knight  to  announce  a 
welcome  visitor. 

Sintram  opened  his  eyes,  to  feel  the  pleasure  of  a  child  whose 
Christmas-gifts  have  been  placed  at  his  bed-side  to  surprise  him. 
For  the  chaplain  smiled  at  him  as  he  had  never  yet  seen  him 
smile.  There  was  in  it  a  token  of  victory  and  blessing,  or  at 
least  of  the  near  approach  of  both.  "  You  have  accomplished 
much  yesterday,  very  much,"  said  the  holy  priest,  and  his  hands 
were  joined  and  his  eyes  full  of  bright  tears.  "  I  thank  God 
on  your  behalf,  my  noble  knight.  Verena  knows  all,  and  she 
too  blesses  God.  I  do  indeed  now  dare  hope  that  the  time  will 
soon  come  when  you  may  appear  before  her.  But  Sintram,  Sir 
Sintram,  there  is  need  of  haste — for  the  old  man  above  requires 
speedy  aid,  and  you  have  still  a  heavy — as  I  hope  the  last — yet 
a  most  heavy  trial  to  undergo  for  his  sake.  Arm  yourself,  my 
knight,  arm  yourself  even  with  temporal  weapons.  In  truth, 
this  time  only  spiritual  armour  is  needed,  but  it  always  befits  a 
knight  as  well  as  a  monk,  to  wear,  in  the  decisive  moments  of 
his  life,  the  entire  solemn  garb  of  his  station.  If  it  so  please 
you,  we  will  go  directly  to  Drontheim  together.  You  must 
return  thence  to-night.  Such  is  the  tenor  of  the  hidden  decree, 
vv'hich  has  been  dimly  unfolded  to  Verena's  foresigb/.  Here 
there  is  yet  much  that  is  wild  and  distracting,  and  you  have 
great  need  to-day  of  calm  preparation." 


224 


SINTRAM, 


[cn.vp.  xxn 


With  humble  joy  Sintram  bowed  his  assent,  and  called  for 
his  horse  and  for  a  suit  of  armour.  "  Only,"  added  he,  let 
not  any  of  that  armour  be  brought,  which  was  last  night  over- 
thrown in  the  hall." 

His  orders  were  quickly  obeyed.  The  arms  which  were 
fetched,  adorned  with  fine  engraved  work,  the  simple  helmet, 
formed  rather  like  that  of  an  esquire  than  a  knight,  the  lance 
of  almost  gigantic  size,  which  belonged  to  the  suit, — on  all  these 
the  chaplain  gazed  in  deep  thought,  and  with  melancholy  emo- 
tion. At  last,  when  Sintram  with  the  help  of  his  esquires  was 
well-nigh  equipped,  the  holy  priest  spoke :  "  Wonderful  are  the 
ways  of  God's  providence  !  See,  dear  Sintram,  this  armour 
and  this  spear  were  formerly  those  of  Sir  Weigand  the  Slender, 
and  with  them  he  did  many  mighty  deeds.  When  he  was 
tended  by  your  mother  in  the  castle,  and  when  even  your  father 
still  shoAved  himself  kind  and  courteous,  he  asked,  as  a  favour, 
that  his  armour  and  his  lance  should  be  allowed  to  hang  in 
Biorn's  armoury, — Weigand  himself,  as  you  well  know,  in- 
tended to  build  a  cloister  and  to  live  there  as  a  monk, — and  he 
put  his  old  esquire's  helmet  with  it,  instead  of  another,  because 
he  was  yet  wearing  that  one  when  he  first  saw  the  fair  Verena's 
angelic  face.  How  wondrously  does  it  now  come  to  pass,  that 
these  very  arms  which  have  so  long  been  laid  aside,  should 
have  been  brought  to  you  for  the  decisive  hour  of  your  life ! 
To  me,  as  far  as  my  short-sighted  human  wisdom  can  tell,  to 
me  it  seems  truly  a  very  solemn  token,  but  one  that  is  full  of 
high  ami  glorious  promise." 

Sintram  stood  now  in  complete  array,  composed  and  stately, 
and  from  his  tall,  slender  figure  might  have  been  supposed  still 
in  early  youth,  had  not  the  deep  lines  of  care  which  furrowed 
his  countenance  shown  hini  to  be  advanced  in  years. 

"  Who  has  placed  boughs  on  the  head  of  my  war-horse  ?" 
asked  Sintram  of  the  esquires  with  displeasure.  "  I  am  not  a 
conqueror,  nor  a  wedding-guest.  And  besides,  there  are  no 
boughs  now,  but  these  red  and  yellow  crackling  leaves  of  the 
oak,  dull  and  dead  like  the  season  itself" 


ciiAr  yxvt  ]  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  225 


"  Sir  knight,  I  know  not,  myself,"  answered  an  esquire,  "  but 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  not  do  otherwise." 

"  Let  it  be,"  said  the  chaplain.  "  I  feel  that  this  is  also  sent 
as  a  token  full  of  meaning  from  the  right  source." 

Then  the  knight  threw  himself  into  his  saddle  ;  the  priest 
went  beside  him  ;  and  they  both  rode  slowly  and  silently  to- 
wards Drontheim.  The  faithful  dog  followed  his  master. 
When  the  lofty  castle  of  Drontheim  appeared  in  sight,  a  gentle 
smile  spread  itself  over  Sintram's  countenance,  like  a  gleam  of 
sunshine  on  a  wintry  valley.  "  God  has  done  great  things  for 
me,"  said  he.  "  I  once  rushed  from  here,  a  fearfully  wild  boy  ; 
I  now  come  back,  a  penitent  man.  I  trust  that  good  is  yet  in 
gtore  for  my  poor  troubled  life." 

The  chaplain  assented  kindly,  and  soon  afterwards  the  travel- 
lers passed  under  the  echoing  vaulted  gateway  into  the  castle- 
yard.  At  a  sign  from  the  priest,  the  retainers  approached  with 
respectful  haste,  and  took  charge  of  the  horses ;  then  he  and 
Sintram  went  through  long  winding  passages,  and  up  many 
steps,  to  the  remote  chamber  which  the  chaplain  had  chosen  for 
his  own :  far  away  from  the  noise  of  men,  and  near  to  the  clouds 
and  the  stars.  There  the  two  passed  a  quiet  day  in  devout 
prayer,  and  earnest  reading  of  Holy  Scripture. 

When  the  evening  began  to  close  in,  the  chaplain  arose  and 
said  :  "  And  now,  my  knight,  get  ready  your  horse,  and  mount 
and  ride  back  again  to  your  father's  castle.  A  toilsome  way 
lies  before  you,  and  I  dare  not  go  with  you.  But  I  can,  and  I 
will  call  upon  the  Lord  for  you,  all  through  the  long,  fearful 
night.  Oh,  beloved  instrument  of  the  Most  High,  you  will  yet 
not  be  lost !" 

Thrilling  with  strange  forebodings,  but  nevertheless  strong 
and  vigorous  in  spirit,  Sintram  did  according  to  the  holy  man's 
desire.  The  sun  set  as  the  knight  approached  a  long  valley, 
strangely  shut  in  by  rocks,  through  which  lay  the  road  to  his 
fntJier's  castle. 

16 


236 


SINTRAM, 


[chap,  xxra 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Before  entering  the  rocky  pass,  the  knight,  with  a  prayer 
and  thanksgiving,  looked  back  once  more  at  the  castle  of  Dron- 
theim.  There  it  was,  so  vast  and  quiet  and  peaceful,  the  bright 
windows  of  the  chaplain's  high  chamber  yet  lighted  up  by  the 
last  gleam  of  the  sun,  which  had  already  disappeared.  In  front 
of  Sintram  was  the  gloomy  valley,  looking  as  if  prepared  to  be 
his  grave. 

Then  there  came  towards  him  some  one  riding  on  a  small 
horse,  and  Skovmark,  who  had  gone  up  to  the  stranger  as  if  to 
find  out  who  he  was,  now  ran  back  with  his  tail  between  his 
legs  and  his  ears  put  back,  howling  and  whining,  and  he  crept 
terrified  under  his  master's  war-horse.  But  even  the  noble  steed 
appeared  to  have  forgotten  his  once  so  fearless  and  warlike  ar- 
dour. He  trembled  violently,  and  when  the  knight  would  have 
turned  him  towards  the  stranger,  he  reared  and  snorted  and 
plunged,  and  began  to  throw  himself  backwards.  It  was  only 
with  difficulty  that  Sintram's  strength  and  horsemanship  got  the 
better  of  him,  and  he  was  all  white  with  foam  when  Sintram 
came  up  to  the  unknown  traveller. 

"  You  have  cowardly  animals  with  you,"  said  the  latter,  in  a 
low  smothered  voice. 

Sintram  v/as  unable,  in  the  ever-increasing  darkness,  rightly 
to  distinguish  what  kind  of  being  he  saw  before  him ;  only  a 
very  pallid  face,  which  at  first  he  had  thought  was  covered 
with  freshly  fallen  snow,  met  his  eyes  from  amidst  the  long 
hanging  garments  in  which  the  figure  was  clothed.  It  seemed 
that  the  stranger  carried  a  small  box,  wrapped  up ;  his  little 
horse,  as  if  wearied  out,  bent  his  head  down  towards  the  ground, 
whereby  a  bell,  which  hung  from  the  wretched  torn  bridle  un- 
der his  neck,  was  made  to  give  a  strange  sound.    After  a  short 


CUAP.  XXVIl.J 


AND  m6  COMPANIONS. 


2V7 


silence,  Sintram  replied  :  "  Noble  steeds  avoid  those  of  a  worse 
race,  because  they  are  ashamed  of  them ;  and  the  boldest  dogs 
arQ  attacked  by  a  secret  terror  at  sight  of  forms  to  which 
they  are  not  accustomed.  I  have  no  cowardly  animals  with 
ma." 

Good,  Sir  knight,  then  ride  with  me  through  the  valley." 
"  I  am  going  through  the  valley,  but  I  want  no  compan- 
ions." 

"  But,  perhaps,  I  want  one.  Do  you  not  see  that  I  am  un- 
armed ?  And  at  this  season,  at  this  hour,  theie  are  frightful, 
unearthly  beasts  about." 

Just  then,  as  if  to  confirm  the  awful  words  of  the  stranger, 
a  thing  swung  itself  down  from  one  of  the  nearest  trees  covered 
with  hoar  frost, — no  one  could  say  if  it  were  a  snake,  or  a 
lizard, — it  curled  and  twisted  itself,  and  appeared  to  be  going 
to  slide  down  upon  the  knight  or  his  companion.  Sintram 
levelled  his  spear,  and  pierced  the  creature  through.  But  witl 
the  most  hideous  contortions  it  fixed  itself  firmly  on  the  spear 
head,  and  in  vain  did  the  knight  endeavour  to  rub  it  oflf  against 
the  rocks  or  the  trees.  Then  he  let  his  spear  rest  upon  his 
right  shoulder,  with  the  point  behind  him,  so  that  the  horrible 
beast  no  longer  met  his  sight,  and  he  said  with  good  courage  to 
the  stranger :  "  It  does  seem  indeed  that  I  could  help  you,  and 
I  am  not  forbidden  to  have  an  unknown  stranger  in  my  compa- 
ny ;  so  let  us  push  on  bravely  into  the  valley !" 

"  Help  !"  so  resounded  the  solemn  answer.  "  Not  help,  I, 
perhaps,  may  help  thee.  But  God  have  meicy  upon  thee,  if  the 
time  should  ever  come  when  I  could  no  longer  help  thee.  Then 
thou  wouldst  be  lost,  and  I  should  become  very  frightful  to  thee. 
But  we  will  go  through  the  valley,  I  have  thy  knightly  word 
for  it.    Come !" 

They  rode  forward.  Sintram's  horse  still  showing  signs  of 
fear,  the  faithful  dog  still  whining,  but  both  obedient  to  their 
master's  will.  The  knight  was  calm  and  steadflist.  The  snow 
had  slipped  down  from  the  smooth  rocks,  and  by  the  light  of  the 
rising  mom  could  be  seen  various  strange  twisted  shapes  on 


328 


SINTRAM, 


[chap  JSXVil 


their  sides,  some  looking  like  snakes,  and  some  like  human 
faces ;  but  they  were  only  formed  by  the  veins  in  the  rock,  and 
the  half  bare  roots  of  trees  which  had  planted  themselves  in 
that  desert  place  with  capricious  firmness.  High  above,  and 
at  a  great  distance,  the  castle  of  Drontheim,  as  if  to  take  leave, 
appeared  again  through  an  opening  in  the  rocks.  The  knight 
then  looked  keenly  at  his  companion,  and  he  almost  felt  as  if 
Weigand  the  Slender  were  riding  beside  him.  "  In  God's 
name,"  cried  he,  "  art  thou  not  the  shade  of  that  departed 
knight  who  suffered  and  died  for  Verena?" 

"  I  have  not  suffered,  I  have  not  died,  but  ye  suffer  and  ye 
die,  poor  mortals  !"  murmured  the  stranger.  "  I  am  not  Wei- 
gand. I  am  that  other  one,  who  was  so  like  him,  and  whom 
thou  hast  also  met  before  now  in  the  wood." 

Sintram  strove  to  free  himself  from  the  terror  which  came 
over  him  at  these  words.  He  looked  at  his  horse  ;  it  appeared 
to  him  entirely  altered.  The  dry,  many  coloured  oak-leaves 
on  its  head  were  waving  like  the  flames  around  a  sacrifice,  in 
the  uncertain  moon-light.  He  looked  down  again  to  see  after 
his  faithful  Skovmark.  Fear  had  likewise  most  wondrously 
changed  him.  On  the  ground  in  the  middle  of  the  road  were 
lying  dead  men's  bones,  and  hideous  lizards  were  crawling 
about,  and,  in  defiance  of  the  wintry  season,  poisonous  mush- 
rooms were  growing  up  all  around. 

"  Can  this  be  still  my  horse  on  which  I  am  riding,"  said  the 
knight  to  himself  in  a  low  voice ;  "  and  can  that  trembling  beast 
which  runs  at  my  side,  be  my  own  dog  ?" 

Then  some  one  called  after  him  in  a  yelling  voice :  "  Stop  I 
Stop !    Take  me  also  with  you  !" 

Looking  round,  Sintram  perceived  a  small  frightful  figure, 
\vith  horns,  and  a  face  partly  like  a  wild  boar  and  partly  like  a 
bear,  walking  along  on  its  hind  legs,  which  were  those  of  a 
horse,  and  in  its  hand  was  a  strange  hideous  weapon  shaped 
like  a  hook  or  a  sickle.  It  was  the  being  who  had  been  wont 
to  trouble  him  in  his  dreams,  and  alas!  it  was  also  the  wretched 


CHAP.  XXVII.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


229 


Little  Master  himself,  who,  laughing  w'Idly,  stretched  out  a  long 
claw  towards  the  knight. 

The  bewildered  Sintram  murmured  :  "  I  must  have  fallen 
asleep !  and  now  my  dreams  are  coming  over  me  !" 

"  You  are  awake,"  replied  the  rider  of  the  little  horse,  "  but 
you  know  me  also  in  your  dreams.  For  behold !  I  am  Death." 
And  his  garments  fell  from  him,  and  there  appeared  a  mould- 
ering skeleton,  its  ghastly  head  crowned  with  serpents ;  thai 
which  he  had  kept  hidden  under  his  mantle,  was  an  hour-glass 
with  the  sand  almost  run  out.  Death  held  it  towards  the  knight 
in  his  fleshless  hand.  The  bell  at  the  neck  of  the  little  horse 
gave  forth  a  solemn  sound.    It  was  a  passing-bell. 

"  Lord,  into  Thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit !"  prayed  Sin- 
tram  ;  and  full  of  earnest  demotion  ne  rode  after  Death,  who 
beckoned  him  on. 

"  He  has  not  got  you  yet !  He  has  not  got  you  yet !" 
screamed  the  fearful  fiend.  "  Give  yourself  up  to  me  rather. 
In  one  instant, — for  swift  are  your  thoughts,  swift  is  my  might, 
— in  one  instant  you  shall  be  in  Normandy.  Helen  yet  blooms 
in  beauty  as  when  she  departed  hence,  and  this  very  night  she 
would  be  yours."  And  once  again  he  began  his  unholy  praises 
of  Gabrielle's  loveliness,  and  Sintram's  heart  glowed  like  wild- 
fire in  his  weak  breast. 

Death  said  nothing  more,  but  raised  the  hour-glass  in  his 
right  hand  yet  higher  and  higher,  and  as  the  sand  now  ran  out 
more  quickly,  a  soft  light  streamed  from  the  glass  over  Sin- 
tram's  countenance,  and  then  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  eternity  in 
all  its  calm  majesty  were  rising  before  him,  and  a  world  of  con- 
fusion dragging  him  back  with  a  deadly  grasp. 

"  I  command  thee,  wild  form  that  followest  me,"  cried  he,  "  I 
command  thee  in  the  name  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  to  cease' 
from  thy  seducing  words,  and  to  call  thyself  by  that  name  by 
which  thou  art  recorded  in  Holy  Writ!"  A  name,  which 
sounded  more  fearful  than  a  thunder-clap,  burst  despairingly 
from  the  lips  of  the  Tempter,  and  he  disappeared. 


S30 


SIN  TRAM, 


[cjiAP.  xxvn 


"  He  will  return  no  more,"  said  Death  in  a  kindly  tone, 
"  And  now  I  am  become  wholly  thine,  my  stern  compan- 
ion ?" 

"  Not  yet,  my  Sintram.  I  shall  not  come  to  thee  till  many, 
many  years  are  past.    But  thou  must  not  forget  me  the  while." 

"  I  will  keep  the  thought  of  thee  steadily  before  my  soul, 
thou  fearful  yet  wholesome  monitor,  thou  awful  yet  loving 
guide !" 

"  Oh  !  I  can  truly  appear  very  gentle."  And  so  it  proved  in- 
deed. His  form  became  more  softly  defined  in  the  increasing 
gleam  of  light  which  shone  from  the  hour-glass,  the  features 
which  had  been  awful  in  their  sternness  wore  a  gentle  smile, 
the  crown  of  serpents  became  a  bright  palm-wreath,  instead  of 
the  horse  appeared  a  white  misty  cloud  on  which  the  moon- 
beams played,  and  the  bell  gave  forth  sounds  as  of  sweet  lulla- 
bies. Sintram  thought  he  could  hear  these  words  amidst 
them : — 

*  "  The  world  and  Satan  are  o'ercome, 

Before  thee  gleams  eternal  light. 
Warrior,  who  hast  won  the  strife. 

Save  from  darkest  shades  of  night, 
Him  before  whose  aged  eyes. 
All  my  terrors  soon  shall  rise. ' 

The  knight  well  knew  that  his  father  was  meant,  and  he 
urged  on  his  noble  steed,  who  now  obeyed  his  master  willingly 
and  gladly,  and  the  faithful  dog  also  again  ran  beside  him  fear- 
lessly. Death  had  disappeared,  but  in  front  of  Sintram  there 
floated  a  bright  morning  cloud,  which  continued  visible  after  the 
sun  had  risen  in  the  clear  winter  sky  to  cheer  and    j.rm  the  earth. 


CHAP,  xxviii  ]  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


231 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"  He  is  dead  !  the  horrors  of  that  fearful  night  of  storm  and  tem- 
pest have  killed  him !"  Thus  said,  about  tnis  time,  some  of 
Biorn's  retainers,  who  had  not  been  able  to  bring  him  back  to 
his  senses  since  the  morning  of  the  day  before  ;  they  had  made 
a  couch  of  wolf  and  bear  skins  for  him  in  the  great  hall,  in  the 
midst  of  the  armour  which  still  lay  scattered  around.  One  of 
the  esquires  said  with  a  low  sigh :  "  T'he  Lord  have  mercy  on 
his  poor  wild  soul." 

Just  then  the  warder  blew  his  horn  from  his  tower,  and  a 
trooper  came  into  the  room  with  a  look  of  surprise.  "  A  knight 
is  coming  towards  here,"  said  he  ;  "  a  wonderful  knight.  I 
could  have  taken  him  for  our  lord  Sintram — ^but  a  bright,  bright 
morning-cloud  floats  so  close  before  him,  and  throws  over  him 
such  clear  light,  that  one  could  fancy  red  flowers  were  show- 
ered down  upon  him.  Besides,  his  horse  has  a  reddish  wreath 
of  flowers  on  his  head,  which  was  never  a  custom  of  the  son  of 
our  dead  lord." 

"  It  was  exactly  such  a  one,"  replied  another,  "  that  I  wove  for 
him  yesterday.  He  was  not  pleased  with  it  at  first,  but  after- 
wards he  let  it  remain." 

"  But  why  did  you  do  that  ?" 

"  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  heard  a  voice  singing  again  and 
again  in  my  ear :  '  Victory !  victory !  the  noblest  victory ! 
The  knight  rides  forth  to  victory  1'  And  then  I  saw  a  branch 
of  our  oldest  oak  tree  stretched  towards  me,  which  had  kept  on 
almost  all  its  red  and  yellow  leaves  in  spite  of  the  snow.  So  I 
did  according  to  what  I  had  heard  sung ;  and  I  plucked  some 
of  the  leaves,  and  wove  a  triumphal  wreath  for  the  noble  war- 
horse.  At  the  same  time  Skovmark, — you  know  that  the 
faithful  beast  had  always  a  great  dislike  to  Biorn,  and  therefore 


232 


SINTRAM, 


[chap,  xxviil 


had  gone  to  the  stable  with  the  horse, — Skovmark  jumped  upon 
me,  fawning  and  seeming  pleased,  as  if  he  wanted  to  thank  me 
for  my  work ;  and  such  noble  animals  understand  well  about 
good  prognostics." 

They  heard  the  sound  of  Sintram's  spurs  on  the  stone  steps, 
and  Sko\'Tnark's  joyous  bark.  At  that  instant  the  supposed 
corpse  of  old  Biorn  sat  up, — looked  around  with  rolling,  staring 
eyes, — and  asked  ot  the  terrified  retainers  in  a  hollow  voice : 
"  Who  comes  there,  ye  people  1  who  comes  there?  I  know  it 
is  my  son.  But  who  comes  with  him  1  On  the  answer  to  that 
hangs  the  decision  of  my  fate.  For  see,  good  people,  Gotthard 
and  Rudlieb  have  prayed  much  for  me :  yet  if  the  Little  Master 
comes  w^ith  him,  I  am  lost  in  spite  of  them !" 

"  You  are  not  lost,  my  beloved  father !"  Sintram's  kind  voice 
was  heard  to  say,  as  he  softly  opened  the  door,  and  the  bright 
red  morning-cloud  floated  in  with  him. 

Biorn  joined  his  hands,  cast  a  look  of  thankfulness  up  to 
Heaven,  and  said,  smiling :  "  Yes,  praised  be  God !  it  is  the 
right  companion !  It  is  sweet  gentle  Death  !"  And  then  he 
made  a  sign  to  his  son  to  approach,  saying :  "  Come  here,  my 
deliverer  ;  come  blessed  of  the  Lord,  that  I  may  relate  to  you 
all  that  has  passed  within  me." 

As  Sintram  now^  sat  close  by  his  father's  couch,  all  who  were 
in  the  room  perceived  a  remarkable  and  striking  change.  For . 
old  Biorn,  whose  whole  countenance,  and  not  his  eyes  alone, 
had  been  wont  to  have  a  fiery  aspect, — was  now  quite  pylc, 
almost  like  white  marble :  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  cheeks 
of  the  once  deadly-pale  Sintram  glowed  with  a  bright  bloom 
like  that  of  early  youth.  It  was  caused  by  the  morning-cloud 
which  still  shone  upon  him,  and  the  presence  of  which  in  the 
room  was  rather  felt  than  seen ;  but  it  produced  a  gentle  thrill 
in  every  heart. 

"  See,  my  son,"  began  the  old  man,  softly  and  mildly,  "  I  have 
lain  for  a  long  time  in  a  death-like  sleep,  and  have  known 
nothing  of  what  was  going  on  around  me;  but  within, — ah! 
within,  I  have  had  but  too  entire  consciousness !  I  thought  that 


CHAP.  KXVIA.] 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


233 


my  soul  would  be  destroyed  by  the  eternal  anguish  ;  and  yet 
again  I  felt  with  much  greater  horror,  that  my  soul  was  undy- 
ing like  that  anguish.  Beloved  son,  your  cheeks  that  glowed 
so  brightly  are  beginning  to  grow  pale  at  my  words.  I  refrain 
from  mere.  But  let  me  relate  to  you  something  more  cheering  : 
lar,  far  away,  I  could  see  a  bright,  lofty  church,  where  Gott- 
hard  and  Rudlieb  Lenz  were  kneeling  and  praying  for  me. 
Gotthard  had  grown  very  old,  and  looked  like  one  of  our  moun- 
tains covered  with  snow,  on  which  the  evening  sun  is  shining ; 
and  Rudlieb  was  also  an  elderly  man,  but  very  vigorous  and 
very  strong ;  and  they  both,  with  all  their  strength  and  vigour, 
wtre  calling  upon  God  to  aid  me,  their  enemy.  Then  I  heard 
a  voice  like  that  of  an  angel,  saying :  '  His  son  does  the  most 
for  him !  He  must  this  night  wrestle  with  Death  and  with  the 
Fallen  One !  His  victory  will  be  victory, — and  his  defeat  will 
be  defeat,  for  the  old  man  as  well  as  for  himself  Thereupon 
I  awoke  ;  and  I  knew  that  all  depended  upon  whom  you  would 
bring  with  you.  You  have  conquered.  Next  to  God,  the  praise 
be  to  you  !" 

"  Gotthard  and  Rudlieb  have  helped  much,"  replied  Sintram  ; 
"  and,  beloved  father,  so  have  the  fervent  prayers  of  the  chap- 
lain of  Drontheim.  I  felt,  in  the  midst  of  temptation  and  deadly 
fear,  how  the  heaven-directed  prayers  of  good  men  floated  round 
me  and  aided  me." 

I  am  most  willing  to  believe  that,  my  noble  son,  and  every 
thing  you  say  to  me,"  answered  the  old  man :  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  chaplain  also  coming  in,  Biorn  stretched  out  his 
hand  towards  him  with  a  smile  of  peace  and  joy.  And  now  all 
seemed  to  be  surrounded  with  a  bright  circle  of  unity  and  bless- 
ed ness.  "But  see,"  said  old  Biorn,  "how  the  faithful  Skov- 
mark  jumps  upon  me  now,  and  tries  to  caress  me.  It  is  not 
'cng  since  he  used  always  to  howl  with  terror  when  he  saw  me." 

"  My  dear  lord,"  said  the  chaplain,  "  there  is  a  spirit  dwell- 
ing m  good  beasts,  although  they  are  unconscious  of  it." 

As  the  day  wore  on,  the  stillness  in  the  hall  increased.  The 
last  hour  of  the  aged  knight  was  drawing  near,  but  he  met  it 


S34 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  XXVIIl 


calmly  and  fearlessly.  The  chaplain  and  Sintram  prayed  be- 
side his  couch.  The  retainers  knelt  devoutly  around.  At 
length  the  dying  man  said :  "  Is  that  the  vesper-bell  in  Verena's 
cloister?"  and  Sintram  made  a  sign  to  express  his  undoubting 
belief  that  it  was,  while  warm  tears  fell  on  the  colourless  cheeks 
of  his  father.  A  gleam  shone  in  the  old  man's  eyes, — the 
morning-cloud  stood  close  over  him,  and  then  the  gleam,  the 
morning-cloud,  and  life  with  them  departed  from  him. 


CHAP,  xxix  ]  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.  835 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  FEW  days  afterwards  Sintram  stood  in  the  parlour  of  the 
convent,  and  waited  with  a  beating  heart  for  his  mother  to  ap- 
pe^ir.  He  had  seen  her  for  the  last  time,  when,  a  slumbering 
c\iild,  he  had  been  awoke  by  her  tender,  farewell  kisses,  and 
then  had  fallen  asleep  again  to  wonder  in  his  dreams  what  his 
mother  had  wanted  with  him,  and  to  seek  her  in  vain  the  next 
morning  in  the  castle  and  in  the  garden.  The  chaplain  was 
now  at  his  side,  rejoicing  in  the  chastened  rapture  of  the  knight, 
whose  fierce  spirit  had  been  overcome,  on  whose  cheeks  a  soft 
reflection  of  that  solemn  morning-cloud  yet  lingered. 

The  innfer  doors  opened. — In  her  white  veil,  stately  and  no- 
ble, the  lady  Verena  came  forward,  and  with  a  heavenly  smile 
she  beckoned  her  son  to  approach  the  grating.  There  could 
be  no  thought  here  of  any  passionate  outbreak,  whether  of  sor- 
row or  of  joy.*  The  holy  peace  which  had  its  abode  within 
these  walls,  would  have  found  its  way  to  a  heart  less  tried  and 
less  purified  than  that  which  beats  in  Sintram's  bosom.  Shed- 
ding some  placid  tears,  the  son  knelt  before  his  mother,  kissed 
her  flowing  garments  through  the  grating,  and  felt  as  if  he  were 
in  Paradise, — where  every  wish  and  every  care  is  hushed. 
"  Beloved  mother,"  said  he,  "  let  me  become  a  recluse  like  you. 
Then  I  will  betake  myself  to  the  cloister  yonder ;  and  perhaps 
I  might  one  day  be  deemed  worthy  to  be  your  confessor,  if  ill- 
r.ess  or  the  weakness  of  old  age  should  keep  the  good  chaplain 
within  the  castle  of  Drontheim." 

"  That  would  be  a  sweet,  quietly-happy  life,  my  good  child," 

*  "  In  whose  sweet  presence  sorrow  dares  not  lower, 
Nor  expectation  rise, 
Too  high  for  earth." 

Christian  Year. 


236 


SINTRAM, 


[chap.  XXIX 


replied  the  lady  Verena  ;  "  but  such  is  not  your,  vocation. 
You  must  continue  to  be  a  bold,  powerful  knight,  and  you  must 
spend  the  long  life  which  is  almost  always  granted  to  us,  chil- 
dren of  the  north,  in ,  succouring  the  weak,  in  keeping  down 
the  lawless,  and  in  yet  another  more  bright  and  honourable 
e-nployment  which  I  now  rather  dimly  foresee,  than  clearly 
know." 

"  God's  v/ill  be  done !"  said  the  knight,  and  he  rose  up  full 
of  self-devotion  and  firmness. 

"  That  is  my  good  son,"  said  the  lady  Verena.  "  Ah !  h  pw 
many  sweet  calm  joys  spring  up  for  us !  See,  already  is  our 
longing  desire  of  meeting  again  satisfied,  and  you  will  never 
more  be  so  entirely  estranged  from  me.  Every  week  on  this 
day  you  will  come  back  to  me,  and  you  will  relate  what  glori- 
ous deeds  you  have  done,  and  take  back  with  you  my  advice 
and  my  blessing." 

"  Am  I  not  once  more  a  good  and  happy  child !"  cried  Sin- 
tram  joyously  ;  "  only  that  the  merciful  God  has  given  me  in 
addition  the  strength  of  a  man  in  body  and  spirit.  Oh !  how 
blessed  is  that  son  to  whom  it  is  allowed  to  gladden  his  mother's 
heart  with  the  blossoms  and  the  fruit  of  his  life  !" 

Thus  he  left  the  quiet  cloister's  shade,  joyful  in  spirit  and 
lichly  laden  with  blessings,  to  enter  on  his  noble  career.  He 
was  not  content  with  going  about  wherever  there  might  be  a 
rightful  cause  to  defend,  or  evil  to  be  averted ;  the  gates  of  the 
now  hospitable  castle  stood  always  open  also  to  receive  and 
shelter  every  stranger, — and  old  Rolf,  who  was  almost  grown 
young  again  at  sight  of  his  lord's  excellence,  was  established  as 
seneschal.  The  winter  of  Sintram's  life  set  in  bright  and  glori- 
ous, and  it  was  only  at  times  that  he  would  sigh  within  himself 
and  say :  "  Ah  !  Montfau9on,  ah  !  Gabrielle,  if  I  could  dare  to 
hope  that  you  have  quite  forgiven  me  I" 


eiiAp.  XXX 


AND  HIS  COMPANIONS. 


2:37 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

The  spring  had  ccine  in  its  brightness  to  that  northern  land, 
when  one  morning  Sintram  turned  his  horse  homewards  after  a 
successful  encounter  with  one  of  the  most  formidable  disturbers 
of  the  peace  of  his  neighbourhood.  His  horsemen  rode  after 
him,  singing  as  they  went.  As  they  drew  near  the  castle  they 
heard  the  sound  of  joyous  notes  wound  on  the  horn.  "  Some 
welcome  visitor  must  have  arrived,"  said  the  knight,  and  he 
'purred  his  horse  to  a  quicker  pace  over  th.e  dewy  meadow. 
While  still  at  some  distance,  they  descried  old  Rolf  busily  en- 
gaged in  preparing  a  table  for  the  morning  meal,  under  the 
trees  in  front  of  the  castle  gates.  From  all  the  turrets  and  bat- 
tlements floated  banners  and  flags  in  the  fresh  morning  breeze, 
esquires  were  running  to  and  fro  in  their  gayest  apparel.  As 
soon  as  the  good  Rolf  saw  his  master,  he  clapped  his  hands 
joyfully  over  his  gray  head,  and  hastened  into  the  castle.  Im- 
mediately the  wide  gates  were  thrown  open,  and  Sintram,  as  he 
entered,  was  met  by  Rolf,  whose  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  of 
joy  as  he  pointed  towards  three  noble  forms  that  were  following 
him. 

Two  men  of  high  stature, — one  in  extreme  old  age,  the  other 
gray-headed,  and  both  remarkably  alike, — were  leading  between 
them  a  fair  young  boy,  in  a  page's  dress  of  blue  velvet,  richly 
embroidered  with  gold.  The  two  old  men  wore  the  dark  velret 
dress  of  German  burghers,  and  had  massive  gold  chains  and 
large  shining  medals  hanging  round  their  necks. 

Sintram  had  never  before  seen  his  honoured  guests,  and  yet 
he  felt  as  if  they  were  well  known  and  valued  friends.  The 
very  aged  man  reminded  him  of  his  dying  father's  words  about 
the  snow-covered  mountains  lighted  up  by  the  evening  sun ; 
and  then  he  remembered,  he  could  scarcely  tell  how,  that  he 


S38 


SINTRAM,  AND  HIS  COMPANIONS.     [ciup.  xxx 


had  heard  Folko  say  that  one  of  the  highest  mountains  of  that 
soit  in  his  southern  land  was  called  the  St.  Gotthard.  And  at 
the  same  time  he  knew  that  the  old  but  yet  vigorous  man  on 
the  other  side  was  named  Rudlieb.  But  the  boy  who  stood  be- 
tween them, — ah !  Sintram's  humility  dared  scarcely  form  a 
hope  as  to  who  he  might  be,  however  much  his  features,  so  no- 
ble and  soft,  called  up  two  highly  honoured  images  before  his 
mind. 

Then  the  aged  Gotthard  Lenz,  the  prhice  of  old  men,  ad- 
vanced with  a  solemn  step,  and  said  :  "  This  is  the  noble  boy 
Engeltram  of  Montfaufon,  the  only  son  of  the  great  baron,  and 
his  father  and  mother  send  him  to  you.  Sir  Sintram,  knowing 
well  your  holy  and  glorious  knightly  career,  that  you  may  bring 
him  up  to  all  the  honourable  and  valiant  deeds  of  this  northern 
land,  and  may  make  of  him  a  Christian  knight,  like  yourself" 

Sintram  threw  himself  from  his  horse.  Engeltram  of  Mont- 
fau^on  held  the  stirrup  gracefully  for  him,  checking  the  retain- 
ers, who  pressed  forward,  with  these  words :  "  I  am  the  noblest 
born  esquire  of  this  knight,  and  the  service  nearest  to  his  persoD 
belongs  to  me." 

Sintram  knelt  on  the  turf  to  offer  a  silent  prayer,  then  lifting 
up  the  image  of  Folko  and  Gabrielle  in  his  arms,  towards  the 
rising  sun,  he  cried  :  "  With  the  help  of  God,  my  Engeltram, 
you  will  become  glorious  as  that  sun,  and  your  course  will  be 
like  his !" 

And  Rolf  said,  as  he  wept  for  joy,  "  Lord,  now  iettest  Thou 
Thy  servant  depart  in  peace." 

Gotthard  Lenz  and  Rudlieb  were  pressed  to  Sintram's  heart , 
the  chaplain  of  Drontheim,  who  just  then  came  from  Verena's 
cloister,  to  bring  a  joyful  greeting  to  her  brave  son,  stretched  out 
his  hands  to  bless  them  all. 


END   OF  SINTilAM. 


